In Darkness and in Light
by N.S.L. Jewelles
Summary: Christine Landry,16, descendant of Meg Giry, is thrust into the spotlight of the new Paris Opera against her wishes and is assigned a vocal coach, the manager's son Erik. Soon, however, she realizes that there is more to Erik than meets the eye. AU, DONE
1. The Parisian Opera

_**Chapter One – The Parisian Opera**_

_Paris – February 2005_

Christine Landry stands outside the newly-built Parisian opera house, waiting impatiently. It wasn't like her grandmother to take this long. The cold air bites at her face, the only part of her that is exposed, and she curses silently.

Elle Landry finally appears at the door of the building and motions for her granddaughter to come inside, into the warmth. Christine hurries into the opera house, and Elle closes the door behind her. The sight astounds her. There is a grand staircase tiled in purely white marble, glittering from the light of a magnificent chandelier. "Well, _mon chéri_? What do you think?"

"It's…amazing!"

"Not the kind of thing many sixteen-year-olds get to see, eh?" She smiles at Christine, glad that she is experiencing the kind of thing her great-great-grandmother, Elle's grandmother, experienced.

"Madame Landry!" There is a male voice from the top of the staircase, and Christine turns. A rather tall man descends the marble stairs towards Elle and Christine, taking the older woman's hand and pressing his lips to it momentarily. "I'm so glad you could make it. We've been looking for an Opera Populaire descendant for years now!"

"André, I'm happy to be here. This is Christine, my granddaughter." She motions to the girl beside her, and Christine extends her hand to meet the man's. "Christine, this is Monsieur André Destler, the owner of the Opera."

"It's a pleasure, Monsieur Destler."

"All mine, Mademoiselle." André looks away from Elle and Christine back up the staircase. "Erik! Get down here!"

"Yes, Father." The voice floats through the air like it's made of silk. Soft, luscious and baritone, it makes Christine quiver. Another man, though merely out of boyhood, appears. He comes down the landing beside André.

"Madame Landry, this is my son, Erik. Erik, this is Madame Elle Landry and her granddaughter Christine." André motions to the two women beside him, and Erik nods in acknowledgement.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," he says, his astounding voice penetrating Christine's ears as his eyes rest on her. Their eyes meet, but she blinks and looks away, slightly embarrassed that she's being dragged around with her grandmother.

"Erik will be starting medical school in America next fall," André mentions proudly, capturing Christine's attention.

"Really?" Christine says, but realizes that she's spoken out of turn. "I'm sorry. That sounded extremely childish."

"No, no, Mademoiselle. I can understand excitement, especially when you're only…how old are you?" Christine gulps. She feels almost vulnerable now, as if saying her age around two adult men will make them think the less of her, take advantage of her. But her grandmother answers for her.

"She was sixteen in September."

"Ah," André replies. "Elle, I must speak with you in private. Erik," he turns to his son. "Would you be so kind as to give Mademoiselle Landry a quick tour?"

"Of course, Father," he replies in his magnificent voice, motioning for Christine to follow him up the staircase and to the right down a walkway of more marble. There is silence all around them as they enter a covered hallway leading to a large, intricately carved door. Erik slips a key with a red-tasseled end into the lock and flips it.

The smell of freshly-cleaned fabric meets Christine's nostrils as Erik motions for her to walk into the theatre ahead of him. She is met with a glorious sight from her perch atop a stairway leading down toward the seats. The stage is hidden behind an immense golden curtain that matches the trim on the burgundy fabric of the seats. There is a chandelier hanging from the mural-painted ceiling. "What do you think?" Erik asks of her, and she jumps at the sound of his voice after all of this silence.

"It's quite the sight for sore eyes."

"That it is."

"May I?" she asks tentatively, motioning towards the downward slope of the stairs. Erik nods, and she slowly descends down the Persian-carpeted stairway towards the stage. It isn't that long of a walk, and she knows that Erik has been behind her the whole way. She stands at the foot of the stage, taking in all of its grandeur, and wishes suddenly that she could be on the stage.

She hears the movement of pulleys and the shuffle of fabric, and turns. The glamorous gold curtain is rising off of the wood of the stage, and she sees Erik at the source of the movement, just off to her side. Christine hops up on the stage and walks to its center, looking out over the seats.

"Christine? Are you down there?"

"Yes, _Grand-mère_!" she calls up towards the door, hurrying off of the stage, Erik behind her. Their footsteps echo around the emptiness of the theatre as they run to the door.

"It is time to go, Christine." She looks at André, who stands behind her. "_Au revoir_, Monsieur. Erik." They walk out of the opera house and down the frosty streets. "They're very nice men, don't you think, _mon chéri_?" Elle says as Christine waves down a taxi.

"They're nice enough." The ride back to Elle's apartment is long and silent, and when they finally reach their home, Christine wants nothing more than a warm cup of tea. "Tea, G_rand-mère_?"

"Yes, Christine, thank you." As she runs to put a kettle of water on the small stove, Elle speaks again, this time more seriously. "Christine, would you think of joining the opera's company?"

"Pardon?"

"Monsieur Destler was speaking with me about having you join. He's looking forward to it, I know. He'd be very flattered if you took him up on the offer." Christine turns the stove on and turns back to her grandmother, a little confused. Why on earth would she join the Paris Opera? It seems a little old-fashioned to her.

"_Grand-mère_, much as I love you, I would never join the opera. Tell Monsieur Destler I decline." She turns back to the kettle.

"Christine, humor me. Join the opera. If you don't like it after a year, we'll pull you out."

"A year? But _Grand-mère_!"

"I will tell Monsieur Destler you accept at the opening reception. It's a masquerade, you know. It ought to be most enjoyable." Christine sighs in defeat.

"Mama wouldn't like you forcing things on me." That does it for Elle.

"Christine Marie Landry, how dare you say your dear deceased mother's name in vain!"

"She wouldn't like it, _Grand-mère_! How many times must I remind you?" Both Christine and Elle are on the edge now.

"You will join the opera," Elle says through gritted teeth, tears forming at her eyes. "Your mother certainly would've wanted that. No more discussion."

3


	2. Masquerade

_**Chapter Two – Masquerade**_

_Paris Opera – Mid-March 2005_

"Madame Landry!" André, accompanied by a considerably underdressed woman with Italian looks, runs to greet Elle as she enters the opera house for the opening reception. He is dressed in a jester's costume, a jovial look on his face. "This is my assistant manager, Carla. Car, this is Elle Landry and her granddaughter Christine."

"It is a pleasure to meet you both," Carla says. _Yes, she is fully Italian_, Christine thinks. _And not at all self-conscious_. Carla is dressed in the most revealing Marie Antoinette costume, or what Christine assumes to be a costume for the last French queen, complete with towering powdered wig. She shakes both Christine and Elle's hands, and then André speaks again.

"As I said, she is my assistant manager…"

"And girlfriend," says a familiar voice from behind André. Erik appears there, decked out in a most realistic Phantom of the Opera costume. In his left hand, he holds a guest list and two red roses in his right.

"Erik!" Carla shouts, ignoring his comment about her. "You look so handsome!"

"Thank you, Madame." He turns and bows to Elle and Christine. "_Bonsoir_, Madame Landry. Mademoiselle," he adds, to Christine as the band begins to play a very fast song that pulls many guests to the dance floor. Erik hands a rose each to Elle and Christine.

"Erik, why don't you go dance? Madame Garnier's daughter Melissa looks to be partner-less."

"Father, I don't need to dance," Erik retorts angrily. "Besides, I have the guest list to worry about," but Carla grabs it from him almost instantaneously.

"Now you don't." She grabs Christine's hand firmly with one hand and Erik's with the other. Carla then places them together. "Dance!" She thrusts them out onto the dance floor as the faster song ends and a moderately-paced waltz begins. Erik and Christine say nothing as they join the others on the dance floor. Christine tries to act like she's experienced in ballroom dancing, but she knows that Erik has noticed that she is clearly not. He spins her around to the music, an obvious expert on the subject.

"You're doing better than other first-timers I've met," he says jokingly, catching Christine a little off-guard, so she says nothing in response. "Christine?" That is the first time he's said her name in that gorgeous voice of his.

"Yes?"

"You didn't respond to me." She can't see his full expression through his Phantom mask, but she's sure that he looks a little hurt.

"Sorry," she replies quietly as the dance ends. "I'm going to go get some punch."

"Mind if I join you?" She shakes her head and he falls into step behind her toward the drink table. However, his strides are longer than hers, and he manages to grab two glasses before she can, offering the second one to her. "My father would kill me if he saw me not acting like the perfect gentleman tonight." Christine laughs a little at Erik's comment and takes a sip of the punch he's handed her. Then a thought strikes her.

"Why would you parade around as the Phantom, Erik, when he was the doom of the Opera Populaire so many years ago? It doesn't seem like a dose of bad luck for this opera house to you?" He chuckles.

"My dear Christine, you don't know the half of it, do you?"

"I know that the Phantom brought on the burning of the opera." Why, she wonders, is he questioning her like this? Does he think her a dumb and blind child?

"That much is true, Christine, but there is more. Do you wish me to tell you?" Erik leans against the marbled wall behind the drink table.

"I suppose," Christine replies, a little curious.

"I assumed that you'd know, considering that your great-great-grandmother was there. But we'll get to that later." He pauses, and Christine chooses to remain in silence. "Ah, the strange occurrence of the Phantom of the Opera; what an interesting tale it is. It all begins at the Opera Populaire in eighteen-seventy with a young chorus girl whose name was, coincidentally, Christine. Christine Daaè. She was nothing more than an orphaned dancer.

"Before Christine's father passed away, he told her of an 'Angel of Music' who would watch over her. All her life, she believed it and hoped that one day he would come to her. When she joined the opera, she was visited by this 'Angel' who coached her in her singing. She, however, never saw him.

"One day, the opera was rehearsing for _Hannibal_, when the talent-less diva, La Carlotta, quit in a rage, the opera's new owners, Monsieurs André and Firmin, were told by dance instructor, Madame Giry, that Christine could sing. They had her sing for them, and she replaced Carlotta as the lead.

"Her childhood sweetheart, Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny, was the newest patron of the opera, and saw her as the lead soprano that night. He came to her dressing room afterwards, and told her to meet him for dinner. However, her 'Angel' had other plans. Her 'Angel' was the infamous Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera. He called to her through his one-way mirror and led her down to his lair in the catacombs of the opera house.

"The following day, Carlotta asked for her position back, even though the Phantom had left a note for the owners; 'Christine will play the lead and Carlotta, the pageboy. It is a silent role which makes my casting, in a word, ideal.' Carlotta took her place as the lead, and, in his rage, the Phantom hung one of the stagehands above the stage.

"Christine led Raoul up on the opera roof, where they professed their love for each other. Unbeknownst to the lovers, the Phantom was listening, and his anger only grew, for he was in love with his pupil. Later that year, the opera held a masquerade ball. The Phantom made an appearance with an opera, _Don Juan Triumphant!_, that he had written. As well, he took Christine's engagement ring from Raoul with the words, 'You belong to me!'

"In an attempt to find the Phantom, Raoul followed him, but Madame Giry stopped him. She told him the sad story of how she had saved the Phantom, who was then a child, from a freak show. His disfigurement had been put on display, and she pitied him. The child Phantom hung the man displaying him and ran off with Madame Giry, who was then a student in the opera. She hid him in the catacombs under the opera house, where he could use his creative genius to write music. As Raoul put it to Madame, 'Genius has turned to madness.'

"Raoul was determined to capture and kill the Phantom, so he arranged for the opera to perform _Don Juan_ with Christine as the female lead, Aminta. She was scared to do so, afraid that the Phantom would put an end to more people in his determination to see her a star. But Raoul assured her that there would be too many armed guards.

"It didn't matter. Before the final musical number, the Phantom killed Piangi, Carlotta's husband and the male lead, and took his place as Don Juan. As the music for his own song, _The Point of No Return_, began, the Phantom made his way onstage, much to Christine's confusion and wonderment. The song, the ultimate song of passion, ended, and, atop a bridge onstage, the Phantom's mask was removed by Christine, revealing his disfigurement to the world.

"They dropped below the opera house into his lair, followed closely by Raoul. He found them in his underground lair, where the Phantom had told Christine that she belonged to him for the rest of her life. Raoul challenged the Phantom, who caught him in a noose and was ready to hang him then and there in front of his lover. But he offered Christine the choice; the Phantom and her lover's survival, or Raoul and her lover's demise.

"Not eager to see the choice made, Christine went to her 'Angel' and kissed him with all of the passion he'd always wanted her to. The Phantom's heart was broken. He sent Christine and Raoul away, then disappeared himself. Madame Giry's daughter and Christine's best friend, Meg, was with the mob, and she found the Phantom's mask, abandoned on a table. He was never seen again.

"However, a few years after Christine's death, her elderly husband visited her grave. Upon the tombstone was a single red rose tied in a black ribbon; the Phantom had returned." Erik stops, his story over.

"What about my great-great-grandmother?" But they are interrupted.

"Erik! Your father wants you!" Carla scuttles over to Christine and Erik, her stilettos clicking on the marble floor.

"Yes, Carla." He nods to Christine and walks away, his cape swishing as he moves, the light reflecting off of his white mask. Christine looks after him, his feet making soft echoes on the floor. He joins his father by the door, shaking the hands of many dignitaries. One, in particular, catches Christine's eye. The man is on the shorter, stouter side, with graying hair and a boyish face. The man shakes both men's hands, distracting Christine. She studies Erik and his father; they are opposites. André in his court jester's outfit looks like he belongs at a masquerade, while Erik, dressed as the seductive Phantom, belongs in a nightmare.

"So, Christine," says Carla, making Christine turn away from the opera's owner and his son, "what do you think of Erik?"

"He's kind, but a little possessed. He knows the story of his character by heart."

"Ah, yes, Erik has always been the obsessive type. And very introverted, I must say. I'd love to see him having fun once and a while. He's always in his room or in his father's office, reading or playing the piano. He's quite the musical talent." Christine says nothing to this, scared of the resemblance between Erik and the Opera Ghost he portrays tonight.

The evening passes uneventfully, as Christine sits alone at a table receiving many a compliment for her costume, a Spanish flamenco dancer. As it draws nearer and nearer to midnight, Elle comes over to her, accompanied by André and Carla. "Christine!" shouts André, and she stands. "You're grandmother's just told me you will be joining the opera!"

"That's correct, Monsieur Destler," she replies politely, curtsying. Her chocolate curls bounce as she moves, catching the light from the chandelier. "I am honored."

"You will certainly love it here, Christine," Carla adds. "We're already looking into operas to perform."

"What's on the list?" Christine asks, though she knows nothing of operas.

"That is a secret, Mademoiselle, and only Carla and I can share in it," André replies slyly, winking at her. "We'll have our first rehearsal next Friday, where we'll discuss our first production and what everyone will be doing. What're you interested in?"

"I've taken dance for ten years and I was in my school's chorus before I started home schooling."

"Very good, Mademoiselle! I'm sure we'll find a place for you in our opera! Come, Carla. Guests are beginning to leave." The managers walk away, leaving Elle and Christine.

"Come, _mon chéri_. We must be returning home." They return to the apartment, and, as Christine is tucking herself into bed, she is hit with a sudden question for Elle.

"_Grand-mère_?"

"Yes, Christine?" Elle turns away from her bureau, where she has been neatly placing her jewelry from the evening.

"What do you know about the Phantom of the Opera?" Elle stops dead.

"Could you run that by me again, Christine?"

"The Phantom of the Opera; what do you know? Don't lie to me, _Grand-mère_. I want to know." Christine looks to Elle with pleading eyes, wanting to know everything Erik didn't tell her.

"Why are you suddenly so interested, Christine?"

"Well, see, I asked Erik why he'd dress as the Phantom at the opening of an opera, considering that the Phantom was the demise of the Opera Populaire, and he asked me if I knew the whole story. I didn't, I guess, so he told me, but I don't think he told me everything." Elle gazes across the room at her granddaughter and sighs.

"What do you want to know, my child?"

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"That my great-great-grandmother was in the Opera." Elle's face creases in surprise.

"Yes, Christine. Marguerite was a dancer and chorus girl at the Opera Populaire. Her mother was the dance instructor."

"Meg Giry is my great-great-grandmother?" Christine is completely intrigued now, wondering what more her grandmother may know. "What else is there? Did the Phantom really seduce a girl my age?" Elle nods.

"And Erik told you about the occurrence at her grave? With the rose?" It is Christine's turn to nod. "Well, that was almost ninety years ago, but they say that the Phantom will come back again. So many people were skeptical about putting up the new opera house because of it. They say he'll return now that there's a place for him, a place where he belongs."

Christine sits up on the edge of her mattress, wanting more. "But what does it mean, he'll come back? Nobody believes in reincarnation anymore."

"Christine," she says softly, "the Phantom was not the type to not seek revenge. He wanted his little starlet to have everything and he was willing to kill others to do it. When he ran, he left this." Elle goes over to her bureau and takes down the music box. Christine had always loved it, with the intricate little monkey on it playing its cymbals.

"That was the Phantom's?"

"Yes, Christine. Actually, it was sold at an auction before they completely demolished the Opera Populaire. Le Vicomte de Chagny bought it. In his will, he asked that it be given to our family. You'll get it one day," she says, bringing it back to the bureau and turning it on. It played a soft but happy tune, some of the notes a little off from years of abandonment and no use.

Elle begins to sing along. "_Masquerade, paper faces on parade. Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you_." Christine leans back on her pillows, burying herself in the sheets to the sound of her grandmother's voice, melodic and sweet. Soon, sleep consumes her in its dark depths.

5


	3. Monsieur Webber

_**Chapter Three – Monsieur Webber**_

_Paris Opera – Late March 2005_

Christine steps inside the opera house on the morning of her first rehearsal, her bag with her dance shoes and a rehearsal skirt in it slung over her shoulder. The weather in Paris is just starting to warm up, and, once inside, she gladly sheds the jacket she's been wearing. She heads towards the staircase when she sees Erik sitting on the bottommost stair reading.

"_Bonjour_," she says, kindly acknowledging him. He looks up from his reading and nods to her. "What're you reading?"

"Leroux's account of the Phantom." Christine is nearly ready to scream at his freakish obsession.

"Erik, I don't believe that story. It's a foolish tale told to scare small children. I am no child, Erik. It doesn't scare me, and it wouldn't, even if it were real."

"So," Erik says, putting the book down and standing up, "you're saying that you believe in the Phantom but not the story?" She nods. "Why not believe the story? People are going to think you're an oblivious little girl for not knowing. Your own family was involved; can't you believe it?" He stands in front of Christine, his body about a foot from hers.

"Excuse me, Monsieur, but I have a rehearsal," she says coolly, walking up the staircase and entering the theatre. There are only about twenty people present, as it is still a few minutes before their call time, and Christine walks down to join them, but is pulled over by André. He is standing with the man that she'd noticed at the masquerade ball, the one with the boyish features.

"Andy, this is Christine Landry. Her great-great-grandmother was Marguerite Giry," André says as he shakes Christine's hand. "Christine, this is Monsieur Andrew Lloyd Webber. He's a composer. I'm sure you've heard of the musical _Evita_…" Christine nods.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur," she says to Webber, extending her hand. He takes it and places a light kiss on it.

"And you, Miss Landry. I'm overjoyed to meet an Opera descendant." Then, Carla walks over and hooks her arm around André's.

"Monsieur Webber, we must get things started! Wouldn't want to waste a precious moment, now, would we?" She flashes him a huge smile as Christine leaves and takes a seat in a row on her own. The girl next to her is deeply enthralled by the novel she is reading, her right hand twiddling with her fiercely golden locks. She barely notices Christine sit down, but after a few seconds, she manages to realize that there is another person in the row with her.

"Oh! You must think me a terrible girl," she says quickly. "You know, for ignoring you and all."

"No, it's all right," Christine replies happily, glad to have found someone even remotely considerate. "I'm Christine Landry," she adds, holding out her hand.

"Melissa Garnier. But I prefer Missy," she responds happily, taking Christine's hand and shaking it. "My mother's the dance instructor. Here she is!" A tall woman, who looks very similar to Missy, comes over to her. Her hair, the same blonde as Missy's, is tied in a plain knot at the back of her neck, and her blue eyes flash in the light coming from the chandelier. "Mama, this is Christine Landry. Christine, this is my mother, Madame Antonia Garnier."

Christine shakes the dance instructor's hand. "I'm so pleased to meet you, Madame. You and your daughter both."

"Well, Christine," she says, her voice a gentle and mature, "I'm glad you've joined the opera. We'll be very lucky to have you on board for this production.'

"What's the performance?" Madame smiles, her teeth brilliant and straight.

"That, my dears, you shall not know. Not until Monsieur Destler and Madame Granville announce it, at least." She smiles again and walks away to talk with André, Carla, and Webber. Christine turns to Missy, hoping that maybe her mother accidentally said what they were going to perform.

"I don't have a clue, Christine." They both turn as they hear Carla's heels clicking across the floor in front of the stage. "I suppose we'll soon find out?" Christine and Missy sit down hurriedly, and Christine catches a glimpse of a man, who looks to be around her age, in the row in front of them. His hair is not quite black, but not really brown, his eyes a piercing green, like Elle's. Missy sees Christine's eyes wander. "Richard Colville. Eighteen and a first-class asshole. Father gained a fortune in oil and he's been spoiled ever since, at least from what Mama knows."

Christine looks away from Richard. She's almost embarrassed to have been caught staring at such a prominent yet rude figure. Yet, she has the strangest feeling that they've met.

"Settle down!" André shouts, his voice ricocheting off of the high walls of the theatre. "Welcome to your first rehearsal. As you all should know, I am Monsieur André Destler, this is my assistant manager, Carla Granville, the dance instructor, Madame Antonia Garnier, and composer Monsieur Andrew Lloyd Webber." Christine hears a few murmurs from the group and is sure it's from Webber's prior fame. "Monsieur Webber has graced us with his presence for a few reasons, but I'll leave that to him. Monsieur Webber, the floor is yours." André bows emphatically and Webber nods to him.

"Thank you, André, for that kind introduction. Now," he says, his boyish features full of anticipation and joy, "the reason I'm here. The opening of this opera house intrigued me. As a younger man, I was thoroughly impressed by Gaston Leroux's account of the Phantom of the Opera…" Christine takes in breath very quickly. _Oh no. Not more of this nonsense_. "As this opera is standing in the place of the once-grand Opera Populaire, I began to think. What if we, say, _recreated_, those startling events in song and dance?

"That, my dear performers, is why I am here before you now. The music was found in the opera catacombs and in the wreckage of the Opera Populaire. I swear it all to be authentic. Are you with me, my friends?" There is a thunderous applause, but Christine refrains. To perform the story of the Phantom? _Grand-mère_ will simply faint.

Webber begins to speak again. "I'm sure that you all know the story well enough, but the matter is, who to cast? Where could there be such talent to perform as the seductive Phantom? The meek and talented Christine? The determined lover Raoul? The snotty Carlotta and Piangi? That is why I come to you today. I'll return once and a while during rehearsals, but I must be here to cast." Christine notices that Carla is nearly jumping up and down.

"Monsieur Webber!" she shouts, her high-pitched voice cracking over the syllables. "I have a proposition for you." Webber nods, encouraging her to continue. "Many of these young stars haven't had proper training to take on such roles. I propose that our dear manager André be the Phantom, and have me as Miss Daaè. That takes much of the pressure off."

The composer thinks for a moment. "Can you, Miss Carla, sing for me if you are so keen on being our leading lady? Maybe a little _Think of Me_? I know you've…" But she has already begun.

"_Think of me! Think of me fondly when we've said goodbye!_" Her voice does not float over the notes as Christine is sure it should. Rather the opposite, it breaks over the highs and goes flat on the lows. "_Remember me once in a while! Please promise me you'll try!_" Christine sees Missy discretely covering her ears.

"Thank you, Miss Carla. It was quite, um, lovely, but don't you think we should give someone else a chance? Just for good measure. You never know what we'd find! And we desperately need you to devote your time to the management, as with dear André. Anybody? Anyone else?"

The room is silent. Christine looks and Missy, who shrugs. Christine giggles and pretends to be Carla singing the song in her incredibly falsetto voice. They are about to break into a fit of laughter when Madame's voice shoots through the silence. "Monsieur Webber!" she says calmly but urgently. "What about Christine Landry?"

3


	4. Let My Opera Begin

_**Chapter Four – Let My Opera Begin**_

_Paris Opera – Late March 2005_

The room goes utterly and completely silent. Christine feels Missy's eyes on her, her expression not very readable. She senses that many people are looking at her, having realized where the girl Madame Garnier has mentioned sits. She manages to stutter, "M-m-me?"

"Don't be shy, Christine," she hears Missy whisper in her ear, pushing her a little in the back. "Go on." Madame offers her a hand, and she takes it, helping herself out of the seat.

"Come along, child," Webber says, beckoning to her. She walks somewhat slowly, still confused. Why would Madame suggest her? She'd never heard her sing before! Nobody had heard her sing besides chorus instructors and, occasionally, her grandmother. But this was much worse. It was the first production she would ever be in! And it was Phantom, nonetheless!

Her feet touch the cool marble in front of the stage. She can tell that André is watching her very intently, but Carla's eyes are elsewhere, not wanting to focus on the fact that the composer suggested that other people audition. Monsieur Webber takes her arm as she reaches him. "Miss Landry," he says, his voice sounding a little concerned, "you seem surprised. If you don't want to audition…" but Christine has made up her mind. She's not one to back down from a challenge such as this. She wants to prove that Madame didn't suggest her for nothing, even if, in all honesty, it was nothing.

"No, Monsieur, I think I'll audition." His smile widens, though Christine isn't sure if it's because she's auditioning or because he could replace Carla. Webber motions to one of the men in the front row who, in turn, goes over to the piano.

"Can you sight-read?" Christine nods, making Webber smile again. "Lovely! I'll have you sing _Think of Me_, then?" He goes over to his briefcase and pulls out a few pages of music, handing them to her. "Just sing what you see, start to finish. And ignore the part that says Raoul's singing it. I'll just have Monsieur Friar play it for you." Webber nods to the pianist, who starts playing a light, flowing introduction. And Christine starts to sing.

"_Think of me! Think of me fondly when we've said goodbye! Remember me once in a while! Please promise me you'll try._" She focuses firmly on the lyrics, not looking up, not critiquing herself. "_When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free, if you ever find a moment spare a thought for me._" More piano music. She begins to like the song, its high-pitched but smooth notes enchanting her.

"_We never said our love was evergreen or as unchanging as the sea, but if you can still remember, stop and think of me. Think of all the things we've shared and seen. Don't think about the way things might have been._" The bridge over, she returns to the melody she now knows, the words and notes coming easier. "_Think of me! Think of me waking silent and resigned. Imagine me trying too hard to put you from my mind. Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do! There will never be a day when I won't think of you!_" She pauses, catching her breath while the piano begins to play, the now-familiar melody heard above the rest.

Nobody should have been singing, but, suddenly, from the back of the theatre, she hears a simply glorious voice singing the part of Raoul. "_Can it be? Can it be Christine?_" She looks up and sees Erik Destler descending towards the cast as he shouts to her, "_Bravo!_" He keeps moving in a direct path to where she stands and sings again. "_Long ago, it seems so long ago, how you and innocent we were!_" He stops right beside Christine, and she turns to face him. "_She may not remember me but I remember her…_"

On cue, Christine starts again. "_Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade; they have their seasons, so do we, but please promise me that sometimes you will think…_" Christine knows she has to start soon, but she's nervous. The notes written are tricky and confusing, but she tries it anyway. Her voice hits the accented notes, every one of them, as they are written. "_...of me!_"

There is a very pregnant pause in the theatre, but out of the quiet comes a solitary person's applause. "Bravo!" Missy shouts, her face wide with excitement. Her clapping is seconded by a sound beside her; Erik. Then, the whole theatre bursts into fits of uncontrollable applause. Christine sees Richard in the third row, cheering loudly, then looks to her other side. Madame is smiling very proudly. _Maybe she was right about me_.

The clapping subsides, and Christine feels Webber's presence between herself and Erik. "Bravo, Miss Landry!" He shakes her hand amiably, his eyes alight. "You just _must_ be our Christine! Would you, Miss Landry?" Again, she feels that horrible feeling of being watched.

"Of course, Monsieur. Of course I will be your Christine." The cast breaks into thunderous applause for the second time. Before it even begins to go down, Webber turns on the manager's son.

"André, your son's got quite the voice." André smiles. "'tis a pity he isn't in the opera. He'd be a wonderful leading man." At those words, nobody claps any more. Eyes are lifted from Christine and settle on Erik. "You wouldn't consider being our Phantom, now, would you?" Christine shudders. Erik as the Phantom? How could they possibly do that to her? He scares her out of her wits just in the costume, but singing the part too?

"No, Monsieur. My duties lie with my studies, not in a production."

"But Erik, see reason," his father says. "You've got an astounding voice, one perfectly suited to the role! Why not give it a shot? You know the music by heart…"

"I said no!" he shouts at his father, taking a seat in the front row and pulling out his novel again.

"Andy, look at him! He looks the part, he's reading the goddamn book, and he doesn't want to be your Phantom. What a pity." André catches his breath from the argument and turns to his cast. "Let's get this over with now, shall we? Let's have a little Music of the Night! Anybody interested in being our Phantom?" A few of the men present stand up and Christine moves to return to her seat when Madame puts an arm out to stop her.

"No, Christine. You must stay. They need to see how you look with your Phantom." She smiles brightly at Christine. "My dear, you looked beautiful up there."

"Thank you, Madame."

"I had a feeling you'd do well," she says, her smile growing ever-wider as the first Phantom wannabe started his scales. Webber shooed him away almost instantly ("Your voice is too immature!"), followed by countless others. Richard was the last to audition.

"André, you may be the Phantom yet." He turns back to the man before him, asking his name and age, et cetera. Finally, after many scales, he allows him to sing. "One verse and one bridge, if you please."

"Andy," André says, "here in France, it's _s'il vous plait_!"

"Bull crap," Webber says, turning back to Richard. "Go on." Friar the pianist offers him a small introduction, and the song, one Christine has yet to hear, plays from Richard's lips.

"_Softly, deftly, music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you. Open up your mind! Let your fantasies unwind in this darkness that you know you cannot fight, the darkness of the music of the night._" Christine sits down in one of the vacated seats listening intently, captured by his vocals. "_Close your eyes, start a journey to a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before. Close your eyes, let the music set you free!_" He holds the high note for a long time, and Christine feels his eyes on her. "_Only then can you belong to me_…"

"Bravo, Monsieur! Bravo!" André shouts joyously! "Andy, I think we've found ourselves a Phantom?"

"Indeed! Congratulations, Richard." He looks at the managers. "Now all we need is a Raoul." The search for the perfect lover takes a much shorter time, and Webber finally settles on a man a little older than Christine or Richard, a man by the name of Pierre Whiting. Webber has Friar take out his camera and get a picture of their three vocal leads together for publicity purposes, and then runs off to work with the orchestra.

Missy finally comes over to Christine and, though they've only just met, throws her arms around her. "Christine, congratulations!" She jumps up and down excitedly, then pulls her back to their seats. "Did you hear André's son's voice? And his looks? He's to die for!"

"I don't think so," Christine replies dryly, pulling out her iPod.

"What? Are you crazy? He's amazing!"

"Carla says he's really introverted and not much fun to be around. Quite honestly, from what I know, I'd agree with her."

"Oh, fuck Carla! She couldn't tell someone's personality if it bit her in the ass. She's so shallow; at least Mama says she is."

"Christine, _mon chéri_! Come down here!"

"Yes, Madame!" she shouts back, stowing her iPod in her bag again. She hurries down to the front of the stage where she is greeted warmly by André.

"Christine, your voice is lovely, truly lovely. You're one of the best sopranos I've heard in years. However, you do need to clean it up a bit, if you know what I mean." Christine nods. "My son, Erik, has been trained in piano and vocals. If he is willing, I see no reason why you should pay for a private tutor. He could coach you just as well. Erik!" He stands and walks over to his father and Christine. She's very aware of how much he towers over her. "Would you be willing to privately coach Mademoiselle Landry in her vocals?"

Erik looks from Christine to his father and back again. His eyes on Christine, he responds, "Of course, Father. It would be my pleasure."

4


	5. Erik, the Angel of Music

_**Chapter Five – Erik, the Angel of Music**_

_The Destler Mansion – Early April 2005_

It is early evening and rehearsal has just ended. They had been doing a vocal run-through of the first act that day, and Christine's voice is already worn out. She walks down the streets of Paris and finds the address of the Destlers. Full of anticipation, she knocks timidly on the large front door.

A maid answers it. _Of course._ "_Bonsoir_, Madame. I'm here to see Erik…"

"Mademoiselle Landry! We've been expecting you!" She ushers her into the large foyer. "He'll only be a minute. You can wait here if you'd like," she says, showing Christine to a small lounge. Christine sits down, wondering what Erik could possibly be doing besides reading or brooding or playing piano, which he could do in front of her.

Five or ten minutes pass before the maid returns. "Mademoiselle, Monsieur Erik will see you now." The maid shows Christine down a hallway and a flight of stairs, landing her in the elegant basement. "His room is in the back," she says, pointing.

"Thank you." Christine makes a few timid steps forward, then hastens to the door. She knocks. No answer. She knocks again. Still no response. Fed up, Christine pushes on the door and it opens, giving herself a full view of Erik shirtless. Christine bites her lip as he turns around, having been busy with something on his desk. "I'm sorry! I could wait outside for a minute…"

"Don't bother," he replies coolly, coming over to the door. The muscles of his chest move as he walks, and Christine is thoroughly surprised that he is interested in keeping himself so toned and, honestly, handsome. He closes the door and shows her to a seat near the desk he was working at. "I'll only be a moment," he says to her, disappearing into a large closet.

Christine looks around at the posters on Erik's walls. There is, on one wall, a life-size poster of British actor Michael Crawford, as well as posters from the shows and movies he'd been in. On another, there is a poster of a second actor, Scottish Gerard Butler, along with an autographed poster from his film _Dear Frankie_. On the back wall, however, there is a large canvas emblazoned with a very realistic Phantom mask. "Admiring my art, are we?"

She whirls around and sees Erik leaning on the doorframe of his closet. "Well, no, I…"

"Allow me to explain," he says, heading towards her. "Crawford; wonderful voice that is basically the same as my own. And he's an amazing actor. Butler; again, similar voice to mine and a very successful and talented actor. And who wouldn't put an autographed poster on their wall?" he asks to nobody in particular, pointing to the _Dear Frankie_ poster. "The mask I painted in my senior year in secondary school for a final grade."

"It's very well done," Christine compliments. Erik sits down on the edge of the desk and straightens his button-down black shirt. The sleeves are t-shirt length, showing off his muscled arms. _Don't think that way, Christine. It's Erik_.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle," he replies. "Now, before we begin I have a few, um, _guidelines_ to lay down. First, there will be no bickering. End of story. Rule number two- if the need to bicker arises, it must involve music or Phantom only, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Rule number three- the purpose of these sessions is to improve your vocal quality for the show. Therefore we will only work on that music and will only discuss topics pertaining to it. Rule number four- the teacher is always right. Lastly, rule number five- no arguing over a decision I make. If you disagree, refer to rule four." Christine is strongly tempted to slap him. How dare he set down such self-centered rules? "Now, Mademoiselle, we shall begin."

Erik makes his way to a grand piano in the corner of the room, its finish glossy and black. Christine follows timidly, not quite sure what to make of her new vocal coach. "What exactly are you going to help me do, Monsieur?"

"Oh, yes," he says, turning back to her from his position on the piano bench, "rule number six- always call the teacher by his first name unless told to do otherwise." A boyish grin crosses his face, and Christine is surprised to see it. She truly has yet to see him in a real smile.

"Okay, _Erik_," she says, emphasizing his name. "Why am I here?"

"You are here, Mademoiselle…" he says, turning around to face the piano again, but Christine cuts him off.

"It's Christine." Erik coughs rather loudly, and it sounds like he is saying something like "Rule Four" amidst the hacking. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mademoiselle, thank you. Now, back to what I was saying." Erik clears his throat. "You must learn to control your vocals, to support your high notes and your low notes equally, to learn techniques that will enhance your voice. Right now, your voice is beautiful, more so than many I've heard, but it is lacking in the methods that will keep it afloat, without really trying very hard. Do you think you can do this to the best of your ability, Christine?"

Christine whispers a meek, "Yes."

"Good. Now, I'll just make sure the piano's in tune. I haven't played it in a few weeks now." He begins to play some chords on the piano, his fingers moving like liquid across the keys.

"Erik?"

"Yes, Christine?"

"Why did you turn down the role of the Phantom?" Erik stops playing almost instantaneously, whirling around to have a look at her.

"I despise performing, Mademoiselle, almost as much as I despise being interrupted while I am working," he says angrily, turning back to the piano.

"Erik, if you don't mind my saying so, your voice is amazing. I've thought so since I met you." He ignores her, completely and totally ignores her. _How rude_. Erik hums the tune to _The Music of the Night_ as he tunes the piano to perfection.

"There. We're all set to start. Come closer, Christine." She does. Christine takes a few steps forward to stand right beside the piano bench. "Turn so I may see you, Christine." She moves a little so she's at a diagonal to him, able to see his face.

"Don't you need sheet music?"

"No," Erik says, standing up. He goes around to the back of the bench and lifts up the seat. "But you do." After fishing around inside of it, he pulls out a folder thick with sheets of paper, handing it to Christine. Erik sits back down and puts his fingers on the keys. "Now, I took the liberty of deciding what we'd go over first." Not a second goes by before he pounds his fingers on the keys, playing the powerful first chords of the opera. Erik's fingers fly over the keys, sending the first arpeggios of _The Phantom of the Opera_ into the air. Over the noise, he says to his student, "I'll sing the Phantom for you."

"If you are so inclined," Christine replies and prepares to sing. "_In sleep he sang to me! In dreams he came, that voice which calls to me and speaks my name. And do I dream again, for now I find the Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind?_" She stops singing as Erik pulls his fingers from the white and black of the piano keys.

"That was lovely, Christine, but this song is _not_ lovely. It's supposed to be a little more rugged, a little less smooth. You know musical terms?" Christine moves her head a little in agreement. "Well, make some bits a little more staccato. Use your better judgment." Christine nods and sings her part again. She assumes he'll end the piece a second time to critique her, but her ears are greeted with the glorious sound of Erik's voice as he sings.

"_Sing once again with me our strange duet! My power over you grows stronger yet! And though you turn from me to glance behind the Phantom of the Opera is there inside your mind._" The next thirty minutes pass uneventfully, but for Erik's insistence that he is always right. By the time they reach Christine's high note at the end of the song (a high E to be exact), Erik is beginning to look happy.

"That'll be all for today, Christine." Erik stands up from the piano. "I'll walk you to the door." He leads Christine out of his room and up the basement stairs to the main level. Christine sees André at the dining room table, sipping a cup of tea.

"Christine! I knew you were here; we heard you from up here." He glares at his son and Christine can only guess it's because he heard his voice too. "I'll see you at rehearsal tomorrow."

"Of course, Monsieur." Erik shows Christine to the door, which he opens. "Thank you, Erik," she says to her coach as she steps out onto the front walkway, but Erik has already closed the door behind her.

3


	6. Reunion of a Phantom and his Angel

_**Chapter Six – Reunion of a Phantom and his Angel**_

_Paris Opera – Early April 2005_

Her head bowed to keep the rain out of her eyes, Christine runs into the opera house for her second act vocal run-through. As the doors close, Christine runs right into Richard who has just finished a conversation on his cell phone. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Richard!"

"Don't be so sorry, love," he replies, nudging her in the arm fraternally. They head towards the staircase when Richard turns back to her, and she stops. "You know, Christine, we haven't had the chance to talk and we've been leading co-stars for at least two weeks now."

"I know, but everything's been so busy with the costuming and all and…"

"That's not what I meant, Christine." He takes her arm, and she realizes just how firm his grip is. "Don't you remember me?"

It dawns on her. "Yes! We went to camp together for a few weeks, right? You're so different!"

"It's only been four years, Lily." Lily. Her old nickname. He remembers. Christine throws her arms around Richard's neck. He had been her first real boyfriend, if only for a few days. That was the summer after her mother died, and she'd desperately needed someone to love her besides her grandmother. "I'm glad you remember me, love."

"And I'm glad I do!" Christine lets go of her co-star and he takes her hand as they walk to the theatre for rehearsal.

They enter the theatre and see that there's already a crowd onstage rehearsing for _Masquerade_. There is Millie Denton, the opera's La Carlotta, Missy, who is Meg, Mara Reinhart, their Madame Giry, and the three actors, whose names Christine really didn't know, who are Piangi, André, and Firmin. "Richard! Christine! Get down here!" Madame Garnier calls up to them

"We'll be right there, Madame!" The pair run to put their things in some empty chairs and hurry up on stage.

"Are you warmed up enough?"

"Yes, plenty, thank you," Christine replies, catching her breath. They go through the scene and begin staging Richard's entrance at the song's end.

"Take a break!" Madame calls to the cast, and Christine descends to the main theatre level with Richard, chatting most joyously.

"So, how was your vocal lesson the other day?"

"It was fine, thanks," Christine replies, taking a sip of her water. "He's really an amazing teacher."

"Ah," Richard replies, putting his arm around her waist. "A walk, maybe?"

"Of course!" The two walk steadily towards the back of the theatre, planning to make a lap around it before break is over. They walk in silence, merely enjoying each other's presence, before Richard speaks again.

"You know Christine, he's a little obsessive."

"Who? Erik?" Richard nods. "I know he is, but that's not a problem."

"It's odd though," Richard says, motioning for her to take a seat with him in one of the back-most rows. "Do you even know what the Phantom's real name was?"

"He didn't have a name…did he?" Christine gulps. _Not another Phantom-obsessed man._

"Many think he did not, but I know that Erik Destler knows it; what serious fan wouldn't? Would you like to know, Lily?" She nods, a little worried of what she'll hear. "His name was," Richard takes a breath, "Erik."

"Y-you're joking! It can't possibly…and spelled the same too?" Richard nods, and she just knows he isn't lying. "Richard, that's crazy. It's impossible! Absurd!"

"It's true, love, it's true. I've checked it countless times since you were sent to take lessons from him. It's completely truthful. There is no mistake." His eyes are sad. This can't possibly be true, Christine is sure of it. That would be too awkward and coincidental.

"Oh, Richard," she says mournfully, throwing herself against him. "He is crazed, isn't he? It's too weird." Richard's hands move rhythmically over her back and arms, calming her a little. To go for lessons again the next day? It would be torture. But she has to have faith in her coach. She must trust Erik, her very own Angel of Music.

2


	7. The Costuming of the Red Death

_**Chapter Seven – The Costuming of the Red Death**_

_Paris Opera – May 2005_

"Ah! Missy, that's positively painful!"

"Really, Christine, I'm completely and utterly sorry. You can't blame me! It's a corset, dear, not a t-shirt." Missy pulls harder and harder on the laces of Christine's corset, fighting with it to make her friend's waist tiny as possible.

"I don't understand why this outfit has a corset anyhow! It's so frilly that it can't possibly matter how small my waist is." Missy chuckles. "And the costume fits me fine, even without a corset!" Madame walks over at that very moment.

"Patience, Christine, _mon ch__éri_! You will look stunning onstage, so no complaints!" Christine nods, unable to speak as Missy pulls it tighter, finally tying off the laces.

"There! It's finished. Now let's get you in costume!" Missy leads Christine over to a rack of dresses, picking out first layer of the frilly, ballerina pink ball gown Christine will wear, then a gold one for herself. "I prefer yours."

"I prefer yours!" The two of them laugh as they run to Madame, who will help them dress. As the dance instructor helps Christine into her dress, Millie walks by in full Oriental costume for the Masquerade Ball. Missy sniggers, but Christine covers her mouth hastily, quieting her. "Wouldn't want her to hear you, now would you?"

"Everyone's going to laugh at her anyway, Christine!" Madame and Missy spend many minutes finishing Christine's outfit, but when they finally are done, they send her off to have it checked over by Webber and André. As she leaves the women's dressing room, she feels now-familiar gloved hands on her waist. Richard pulls her towards him from behind, her skirts folding against his legs.

"Hey, love," Richard's voice comes to her, his lips close to her ear, and he takes the moment to touch them to the back of her neck. "You look to-die-for sexy, my dear." Christine coughs from the pressure on her middle from his hands.

"Try telling me that when I'm not in a corset and a five-foot train, okay Rich?" He spins her around to face him.

"Deal," he replies, leaning forward to kiss her. She feels suddenly guilty, for she hasn't told anyone but Missy about the two of them, not even her grandmother. Especially not Erik. Christine thinks back on their most recent lesson.

_"How's your little Phantom doing, Christine?"_

_"He's doing fine. His voice is coming along rather nicely. And he looks the part too. Smooth black hair, amazing green eyes…"_

_"I know, I know, total heartthrob."_

_"That's not what I said."_

_"It's what you meant_."

Christine shudders at the thought of Erik finding out about herself and Richard. What a rage he'd been in! Christine touches her dainty white-gloved hand to Richard's lips. "Not here, my love. There are people around."

"Then let them see! If it's your darling little Erik you're worried about, he's not here." Christine doesn't say anything. Rather, she looks at Richard. He is in a long black robe and gloves, not anything Christine is familiar with.

"What's with the Grim Reaper robe?"

"It's only temporary. They're trying to find my Red Death costume." He chuckles, his head bent against her neck. "I sure hope it fits. And hey, if it's tight, you'll only be more inclined to stare at me like you're supposed to, eh?"

Christine pulls away from him. "Oh, you wicked thing!" she whispers to him as their lips touch once more. Richard wraps his arms around her fabric-laden waist and holds her close as they kiss, his hands burning the spots he touches, making her want to be with him more and more. With each passing day, she'd realized that her desires for him were growing, and moments like these only calm her wants for a little longer.

But Christine realizes that it was her who had put a foot down on intimacy. They are the leads in the first production to take place in the new Paris Opera, and what a scandal it'd be if they were caught.

"Richard! Richard?" André's voice pierces their little bubble of romance as he calls for his Phantom.

"Yes, Monsieur?" Richard turns to look towards the door leading into the hallway they're in.

"I think they've found your costume! And your masks arrived this morning. Come and have a look!" Richard puts his arm around Christine's waist and leads her out of the hallway into the bright light of the theatre. They walk over to the first row of seats and Christine catches sight of Carla with some romance novel, though she doesn't look as though she's actually reading.

Before they reach the manager, Christine feels a hand on her arm. "Miss Christine," Webber says to her, "Could I have a minute?"

"Of course, Monsieur." Christine leaves Richard and walks a little ways away with the composer. "What is it that you wanted to speak with me about?"

"There are rumors, Miss Landry," Webber begins, "that there is something between you and your vocal coach." Christine's mouth goes dry and she is completely speechless. "André didn't want to be the one to discuss it since he has to talk to his son about the rumors separately, but I want you to be aware."

"Monsieur Webber, may I set something straight?"

"Yes, Christine. You have my attention."

"I have no interest whatsoever in Monsieur Destler's son. I am merely the student to a highly capable teacher. That is all. Nothing more."

Webber sighs and looks back at Christine. "You better be sure that the both of you stay away from the kiss-on-the-cheek and all that crap if you don't want tabloids everywhere."

"Tabloids? I'm in the opera and he's a soon-to-be medical student and you say there'll be tabloids?"

"You know what I mean. And I'm from America, love. Everything's about the goddamn tabloids." Christine laughs as he leaves, and she leans down to inspect her skirts.

"Mademoiselle, you're giving me quite the show there." Christine looks up and sees naught but red. Richard extends his hand to her to help her stand up straight. "I suggest not leaning down like that around your utterly attracted and aroused co-star. It's giving me quite a view of…"

"Shut it!" She pushes her gloved hand against his mouth immediately. "There are other people around! And," she says, pressing her hip against him, making sure he knows that she's aware of his desire for her, "you're a walking hard-on." She lets him go, but he catches her quickly by the waist, pressing her corset into her sides. "Damn, Rich! Don't you realize how much that hurts?"

"Well, you didn't think you were going to leave without critiquing my costume, did you?" He smiles flirtatiously at her, making her give in.

"Fine. Let me have a look at you." He steps a little back from her and she takes a look at him. Richard doesn't quite look like the Phantom without his mask or prosthetics on, but it's the costume she's interested in. His arms are framed nicely by the close-fitting sleeves, his pale hands standing out from the black, ruffled cuffs. The gold buttons and tight fabric of the shirt fit his toned body closely, showing off every muscle, as well as the pants. The red, velvety fabric tapers off at his ankles, showing off the sleek black boots on his feet. "Very nice."

"Sexy enough for you?"

"Maybe. I'll certainly be able to stare at you," she jests, making him reach for her. "Stop it! There are at least a dozen people here who we _don't_ want to know about us." Christine again thinks of Erik. People think they're together? How naïve. Only in America did people think that there were romances between those who work together. And, of course, only in America did they believe in the ever-popular co-star romance.

3


	8. Sing for Me, my Angel

_**Chapter Eight – Sing for Me, my Angel**_

_The Destler Mansion – Early July 2005_

It is a month before the opera is due to open when Christine appears at Erik's door for what is to be one of her last lessons. Erik, dressed simply in a pair of dark-wash jeans and a black t-shirt, welcomes her inside and leads her down to his room in the basement. They reach the room, and Christine drops her handbag on his bed, slipping her sandals off on the area rug.

"Christine," Erik says to her, reaching for her and touching her arm lightly, "you've come a very long way from where you started. I'm extremely proud of you. After today, I ask that you come only once more, and we'll just go over _Down Once More_, seeing as you know all of the melodies. Today, we're going to work on _All I Ask of You_. Is that all right with you?"

"Yes, Erik. Of course." They've never worked on that song before. She's sure it's because he doesn't want to ruin chemistry between her and her Raoul, but they had to work on it sometime. In her deepest, darkest, most private dreams, Christine has thought of sharing this song with her tutor, a song of caring and love. She had never thought of him in that way before a particularly interesting lesson a few weeks before.

_"When will the blood begin to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us?" _Christine sang the words with all of the heat and passion she felt onstage with Richard. She'd been working with Erik on that song in particular for many lessons now, perfecting her stage presence, her interactions and movements. But when his hands touched her hips that day, it set a strange fire to her that she had never felt with Richard. It was one of unbridled passion, one of a love that couldn't die out, one of a true lover, not a phony.

"_Past the point of no return, the final threshold; the bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn! We've passed the point of no return._" Erik's hands had passed over her waist and stomach, inching ever closer to her breasts, as one of them ran itself across her neck, making her shiver with delight. His body brushed hers, and she was almost disappointed when he wasn't ignited by her, his passions not set free by the mere closeness.

However, he had decided not to sing the Phantom's closing lines so it would work onstage between his student and her co-star. She was exceedingly disappointed. "Christine?"

She's been daydreaming. "Yes?" Christine looks at him, his dark eyes connecting with her own.

"I'll play the intro for you, since I know you've been working on this with Monsieur Friar." She nods. "Would you like me to sing?"

"If it's all right with you, then I see no problem in it." He acknowledges what she said and begins to play the introduction to Raoul's part.

"_No more talk of darkness. Forget these wide-eyed fears! I'm here; nothing can harm you. My words will warm and calm you. Let me be your freedom. Let daylight dry your tears! I'm here, with you beside you, to guard you and to guide you._"

"_Say you love me every waking moment! Turn my head with talk of summertime! Say you need me with you now and always. Promise me that all you say is true. That's all I ask of you…_" Erik continues to play, and Christine sees that his eyes are fogging over in what could be tears.

"_Let me be your shelter. Let me be your light! You're safe, no one will find you. Your fears are far behind you._"

"_All I want is freedom, a world with no more night, and you always beside me to hold me and to hide me_."

"_Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Let me lead you from your solitude! Say you need me with you here, beside you. Anywhere you go let me go too. Christine, that's all I ask of you…_"

"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime! Say the word and I will follow you!_" As she sings, she realizes that the piano has stopped playing along with her. Erik stands up and comes over to her, joining with his own voice.

"_Share each day with me, each night, each morning!_" Her voice mingles with his own, causing her to shiver.

"_Say you love me…_"

"_You know I do_." Erik touches his large, rough hand to her cheek. _Maybe he's getting me ready for my role, that's all._

"_Love me, that's all I ask of you!_" Immediately, realizing what he was doing, Erik runs to the piano and plays the loud, interlude, and Christine follows him, placing her small hands on his broad shoulders. "_Anywhere you go let me go too! Love me, that's all I ask of you!_" Erik continues to play, but the tune now mournful and sad.

"_I gave you my music, made your song take wing, and now, how you've repaid me; deny me and betray me. He was bound to love you when he heard you sing! Christine…_" She moves to sit on the floor beside the piano bench, her fingers resting on his leg.

Almost against her own will, she hears herself murmur, "Richard…" Erik stands up with a jolt.

"What?" He shouts at her.

"Nothing! I didn't say anything! You just…remind me of him so much," she stammers, a little afraid of her coach.

"I never want to be compared to rich scum like that, Christine! Never!" In his rage, he has thrown the piano bench to the floor, music spilled all over the carpet. She hurries to pick it up, righting the bench as well. Standing up, she takes Erik's hand in her own, feeling his rage.

"Sit down, Erik." He lets go of her hand rather harshly and walks to sit down on the chaise in the opposite corner of the room. "Aren't we going to go over some more for the show?"

Her coach shakes his head. "Sing for me." She says nothing, and he continues. "Sing for me something you know, something in your head."

"But, Erik, rule three clearly stated…"

"Well, rule four 'clearly stated' that I am always right. Sing for me, Christine." She takes a deep breath. What to sing? What does she know by heart? Something familiar…the previous night she'd watched _Titanic _with Elle, but that song was much too sad. But the vocalist…yes, she would sing something Celine Dion.

And Christine starts to sing. "_For all those times you stood by me, for all the truth that you made me see, for all the joy you brought to my life, for all the wrong that you made right, for every dream you made come true, for all the love I found in you, I'll be forever thankful, baby. You're the one who held me up, never let me fall. You're the one who saw me through, through it all!_" Erik closes his eyes, taking in her voice.

"_You were my strength when I was weak. You were my voice when I couldn't speak. You were my eyes when I couldn't see. You saw the best there was in me. Lifted me up when I couldn't reach, you gave me faith 'cause you believed. I'm everything I am because you loved me_." He stands up as her vocals die out, taking painfully slow steps towards her, his bare feet padding across the carpet.

To her surprise, Erik, wraps his arms around her back and leans his head against her shoulder. "Keep singing. Don't stop."

She swallows hard. "_You gave me wings and made me fly. You touched my hand, I could touch the sky. I lost my faith; you gave it back to me. You said no star was out of reach. You stood by me and I stood tall! I had your love, I had it all. I'm grateful for each day you gave me. Maybe I don't know that much, but I know this much is true; I was blessed because I was loved by you!_" Christine moves to rest her arms around the back of her coach, leaning into his tight but tender hold on her. She remembers vaguely Monsieur Webber telling her not to get involved with her coach, but this shouldn't matter…should it?

Christine repeats the chorus, Erik rocking her softly in his arms, like a mother and child. He pulls up from his embrace, standing at his full height before her. She places her hands on his chest and sings again. "_You were always there for me, the tender wind that carried me, a light in the dark shining your love into my life. You've been my inspiration, through the lies you were the truth. My world is a better place because of you_."

At this point, Christine stops singing completely. The two stand there for what seems like hours, and Erik says calmly, "You should be going now." Christine breaks away, looking a little embarrassed.

"Oh, yes." She grabs her things from his bed and slips the sandals on her feet. "Um, thanks. I'll come by next week then for one last lesson?"

"Yes, Christine. That'll be fine," he says, returning to his piano bench. Erik does not choose to escort her as he normally does, but as Christine reaches the stairs to the main level of the mansion, she hears faintly in the darkness of the basement Erik's voice once more. "You will curse the day you loved that boy, Christine. You will curse the day you didn't do all that I asked of you!" She runs up the stairs and out of the mansion, her head pounding. She needs to get home.

3


	9. The Rise of the Opera Ghost

_**Chapter Nine – The Rise of the Opera Ghost**_

_Paris Opera – Early July 2005_

Rehearsal had gone well that day. Christine, as she leaves the costuming room to get her things out of her personal dressing room, is well aware that André, Carla, and Webber were watching the chemistry onstage between herself and Richard very intently. They had rehearsed _Music of the Night_, that day, and, after her encounter with Erik, Christine wasn't eager on performing an erotic scene such as that one. But she did it anyway.

She opens the door of her dressing room and walks inside, closing the door behind her. Christine decides to relax for a little while, so she drops her bag and sandals by the door, going over to the small recliner by one wall. As she lies down, she sees a single white rose on her coffee table. Picking it up, she notices a small note tied to it.

_Meet me for dinner at 8 PM._

_Your love,_

_R.D.C._

Christine smiles. She hasn't been out for dinner in a long while, and Richard's invitation is very welcome to her. She looks at her watch; 7:35. She has time to take a quick nap. Her eyes flutter closed as she sings quietly to herself, "_Father once spoke of an angel. I used to dream he'd appear. Now as I sing I can sense him and I know he's here. Here in this room he calls me softly, somewhere in sight, hiding. Somehow I know he's always with me, he the unseen genius_…"

"Christine? Are you getting ready?" Richard's voice comes through the closed door, and Christine goes to answer it. Locked. She hadn't locked the door. No matter.

"Yes, I'm getting ready. I'll be out in a minute." Richard leaves and Christine, a little angry that she now cannot rest, goes over to her wardrobe where she keeps some spare clothing. Feeling like she wants to make an impression, she immediately reaches for a sexy red dress, but stops. No. It's summertime- she needs something more subdued and light. White.

Christine draws the knee-length, fluttery white skirt and matching, loose, feathery sweater, then pulls out a tight-fitting white tank from her drawer. Yes, this will do. She slips off her casual clothes and puts them in a neat pile on her table. In turn, she slips the tank top over her head and steps into the skirt. As she is fastening the sweater in place, she hears a voice, soft and almost inaudible. "_Christine…_"

She ignores it blankly, going to her bureau to put on some jewelry. Her second earring is just being clipped into place when there is a knock on the door. Christine jumps. "Christine? Are you coming?"

"I'm on my way!" She hurries to the door and moves to open it. Still, it is locked. "The door's locked!"

"Locked? What about a key? Don't you have one?"

"It locks from the outside!" She's almost panicky, thinking of being locked in a room all night.

"Christine, I'll go get a key from Madame Garnier. Stay calm! I'll come back and get you in a minute."

"Hurry, Rich! I hate enclosed spaces…" Christine wishes she was not claustrophobic.

"_Christine…_" That voice again. It comes to her ears and she shivers. What on earth?"

"Hello? Is anybody there?" No answer. "Hello?"

"_Come to me, Christine…_" The sound seems to be coming out of nowhere. She walks around the room, pressing her ear to each wall in turn, even the cold glass of her mirror. It vibrates. "_Christine..._" This reminds Christine oddly of one Easter she'd spent with her father's family. They'd been in church listening to the priest reiterate how Jesus had risen, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, when she'd thought she'd heard a voice like this one, a quiet but vocal wind. _Reincarnation_, she'd thought.

_Reincarnation_. Hit with a sudden jolt, she realizes what this could be. _They say he'll return now that there's a place for him, a place where he belongs_. She remembers Elle's words clearly in her mind and begins to sing. "_Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory! Angel of Music, hide no longer! Secret and strange angel_ …"

"Christine," the voice says, growing clearer and clearer still, closer and closer to her. "Why is this boy coming to call upon you? Do you not owe allegiances to your music before him?" She is utterly confused at the statement.

"I…well…I…I love him." That, she realizes, is a mistake.

"Christine!" The voice shouts angrily. "This boy holds nothing for you! Come to me, angel of music. Come to me!" She looks around, wondering what on earth he could mean, when a face appears in the mirror beside hers. "I am your Angel of Music, Christine. Come to me…" The face…it appears as if out of nowhere. There is a mask covering the right side of his face, cold and unwelcoming, but his brown eyes draw her in. His dark hair, slicked back, looks soft to the touch, and his figure is well-muscled and masculine.

Scared now, Christine sees the mirror move, opening on one side, and a gloved hand stretches out of it to her. Wondering what could lie beyond the mirror, she reaches out for the hand and it clasps itself around her small appendage, leading her out of sight of her dressing room.

Torches line the stone hallway, leading down many flights of stairs, and, as the two figures pass, they burst into flame. Christine's hand is clammy in the coolness of the masked figure's gloved hand. He leads her down many staircases and out onto a dock leading into a cold, greenish underground river. By the dock, there is a gondola, and the man urges Christine towards it. "I…I really should go back now…"

"No, my angel. You must continue." She steps into the boat, her bare feet making soft creaking noises on the wood, and sits on the seat, the man propelling the boat forward with a pole. They reach a large gate, and it opens, revealing an underground lair. There is an organ set aside in a little area Christine is sure is his musical studio, and off to the side there is a little bedroom. It is simple but purposeful, Christine realizes. "Welcome, Christine, to my home."

He steps out of the gondola onto the shore and helps her out behind him. The man pulls her along towards his studio, and, throwing out his cape behind him, he sits at the organ bench. "Sing for me!" He shouts, pounding out the opening arpeggios of _The Phantom of the Opera_. "Sing!"

"_In sleep he sang to me! In dreams he came, that voice which calls to me and speaks my name. And do I dream again, for now I find the Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind?_" How can he know that tune? The idea of reincarnation hits her again and frightens her, as he begins to sing, the voice unfamiliar to her, though beautiful all the same. No, not beautiful. Magnificent and heartbreaking.

"_Sing once again with me our strange duet! My power over you grows stronger yet! And though you turn from me to glance behind the Phantom of the Opera is there inside your mind._"

She continues with great trepidation. "_Those who have seen your face draw back in fear. I am the mask you wear._"

"_It's me they hear_!" As she sings her own part, she listens to his duet with her, his voice shattering the cold, unfeeling air around them. "_My spirit and your voice in one combine! The Phantom of the Opera is there inside your mind_!" They continue for one more verse, and Christine begins to sing her descant, harsh yet strangely beautiful. She hears him cry to her. "Sing!" She sings louder, more clearly. "Sing!" Again, she extends her voice, farther even than _fortissimo_. "Sing for me!" Again. "Sing, my angel of music!" Louder. "Sing for me!" She hits it, the high E that has so long eluded her. It was done.

In a moment of weakness mixed with tiredness, Christine slumps against the organ, using it to hold herself up. She's half asleep when she feels his arms around her, lifting her up and walking with her. "Sleep, my angel," she hears him say as he lies her down on what must be a bed. In moments, she is fast asleep.

3


	10. Wrath of an Assistant Manager

_**Chapter Ten – Wrath of an Assistant Manager**_

_Underground Lair – Early July 2005_

There is the sound of water moving, waking Christine up from the deep slumber she's been in. The bed feels unfamiliar. She opens her eyes, looking around. She's in a sunken pewter bed laden with deep red comforters. She's still in the clothes she'd picked out to go to dinner in from the night before, but she doesn't remember actually going.

Standing up, Christine finds her way out of the bedroom and catches sight of a man docking a gondola on the shore. She remembers now, remembers everything. "_Bonjour_, _mon ange_. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, Monsieur, I slept wonderfully." He steps out of the gondola and walks over her, taking her trembling hand and kissing it. Fright takes her and she cries to the man like a lost child. "Please, Monsieur, let me go back! Please! I have a show to rehearse for! Please," she cries, beginning to weep.

"Flattering child, of course you may go back," he whispers into her ear, taking her in his arms. "But I am warning all of those who are around you. I am watching you, watching them. Tell them that. Tell them that the Opera Ghost sends his regards and well-wishes." He gives her a sly smile and leads her to the gondola. "Let us get you back where you belong."

They get back to the mirror and Christine turns to the man, but says nothing. He touches his lips to her hand and nods, walking back down the stairs and into the darkness. Christine walks into her room and closes the mirror, just as the door crashes open. "Christine!"

"Missy!" The friends run to embrace each other, and, over Missy's shoulder, Christine can see Madame Garnier and Richard. "Oh, Missy."

"Christine! _Mon chéri_, what happened?" Should she tell them?

"The door got locked by accident. I stayed the night here- it's all okay, really."

"It's funny, Christine," Richard says. "We couldn't find the key. Someone must have locked it. We found it only minutes ago on the staircase, along with this." He hands Christine a piece of parchment, and she looks to read it when there are voices from outside the room.

"André! I'll have no more complaints! The two of them must not sing! They are not good! I have the charisma to be Christine, not Miss Landry!"

"Carla, she's already been trained and worked with. I couldn't bear to see all of that work go to waste."

"If she does not show up, I get the role! End of story!"

"Yes, Carla, that is fine!" The two managers walk into the room, and Carla nearly faints when she sees Christine. "Merciful heavens! Christine! Are you all right, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes, Monsieur Destler, I'm fine." She nods to the manager.

"Read it, Christine!" Missy says to her, and Christine looks at the letter, reading aloud.

"_To the managers of the Paris Opera and any others this may concern; it has been my pleasure to meet your lovely lead soprano. I must say, her vocals are impeccable- do send my regards to her teacher. On that note, I order that under no circumstances should someone replace her, sickness or not. If she is sick, the show will be cancelled. That means you, Mademoiselle Granville. I wish you luck on your upcoming performance. Please leave box five of the theatre available for me to use at my disposal._

_Your servant,_

_O. G._"

Christine looks around at the other people in the room and they stare back at her with wide eyes. "That's all?" comes Carla's voice. Christine nods to her. "Well, if that is it, I think we can handle it." She turns to Christine. "Be warned, girl. You scare us like that again and you're ousted!"

"Carla, is that entirely rational?" André and Carla engage in a rather heated argument, walking out of the dressing room in a rage. Christine goes to Missy and embraces her tightly, Richard following to help soothe her. Madame Garnier, however, stands silently.

"He has returned," she says solemnly, and the three friends turn to look at her. "The Phantom of the Opera is back."

"Mama, it can't be true!" Missy shouts. "I won't believe it!"

"Missy, don't you realize what this means? History is revisiting itself. There is a budding starlet on our stage and he will not rest until she has the spotlight to herself. Let's all just pray there's nothing romantic for him to harp on." Christine looks at Richard, her eyes full of fright. "Now, Christine, let's get you ready for rehearsal. Richard, Missy, away with you!"

"But Mama…"

"Now!" Christine collapses on the lounge chair, and Madame Garnier goes over to her, caressing her back. "There, there, child. Tell me everything."

"Oh, Madame!" Christine throws herself into Madame Garnier's awaiting arms, crying into her shoulder. "He took me to his lair and…and…"

"Did he touch you, Christine?"

"Not that way," she replies, burying her head in Madame's shirt like she was her mother.

"Hush, child, hush," Madame says, brushing Christine's hair out of her face, smoothing it. "You can tell me anything, Christine. You know that." Christine nods, but she's afraid that Madame will ask for her to tell her everything that's gone on, and that she cannot tell.

2


	11. Finale

_**Chapter Eleven – Finale**_

_The Destler Mansion – Early July 2005_

Christine's footsteps echo harmoniously as she walks down the stairs into the Destlers' basement. She finds her way to Erik's room by the sound of his piano, pounding out a tune she recognizes as _Castle on a Cloud_ from _Les Miserables_. "Erik?"

He jumps upon hearing her voice. "Christine! You're early!"

"Only by five minutes," she jokes, throwing her things down and walking over to meet him at the piano. "And I have to talk to you."

"About?" He turns to face her, his elbow on his leg, his head resting in his palm. Christine realizes just how handsome he looks when he is simply thinking, being himself.

"I think it's happened." Erik looks at her skeptically. "The Phantom. He's returned." For a moment, Erik looks very confused, wondering what on earth she could mean, though he knows right well.

"The Phantom? The Phantom of the Opera has returned?" She nods solemnly. "Dear Lord," he says quietly, running his fingers through his messy hair. "Are you absolutely sure about this, Christine?"

"Yes! He took me to his lair and everything!"

"You? He chose you, of all people?" Christine stares at him angrily, her jaw beginning to drop.

"Erik Destler, even I know that the Phantom picks on rising stars, preferably female. If I know it you certainly should!" She turns and walks a little ways away, her back to him.

Christine hears Erik stand up and put his hands on her shoulders. "Christine, I'm sorry. Forgive me for being so rude?" She doesn't speak. "Christine, I beg of you. I'm…not myself today." Christine turns around abruptly, anger in her eyes.

"So you take it out on me? Thank you so very much, dear Erik." She throws him off and runs over to his bed, sitting on the edge and crying into her hands.

"Christine," he whines mournfully. She feels the mattress shift as he sits beside her and pulls her close to him. "Tell me everything, Christine." Christine's sniffles subside and she buries her face in his shirt, his embrace. "What happened?"

"A few evenings ago, just after rehearsal, I was in my dressing room, and I was getting ready to go out with some, uh, friends for dinner," she starts, knowing not to say Richard's name, "when I heard this voice calling my name. I ignored it, but then, when my friends came to get me, we realized the door was locked. So I stayed in the room and I heard the voice again, coming from my mirror! My mirror, Erik, of all things! And…and…he appeared, Erik! Out of nowhere! And he took me down to this underground lair and he made me sing and then I must've fainted because I woke up the next morning and I was still there.

"When I got back to my room, Madame Garnier, Missy, André, Carla, and Richard all came and found me and said that they'd found a note along with the key to my room that said that I must perform under any circumstance. Oh, Erik, I'm so scared!" She cries into him even more, and feels his arms holding her tightly. "Erik, you must think I'm an awful weakling for crying like this," Christine says, pulling away from him and wiping her eyes on a tissue.

"No," Erik says, as though it's obvious, pulling her back to him. They sit silently for a few minutes, until Erik begins to speak again. "You know what you have to do, don't you?" Christine shakes her head, a little nervous for what he may tell her. "You have to do everything he asks. Appease him." She sits bolt upright, staring into Erik's face.

"Are you crazy? Then he'll only want more!"

"But you'd be putting others in harm's way if you didn't, Christine! Think of the consequences!"

"Consequences? Erik, look what happened last time! He decided that he had to have his little angel and so he nearly killed someone for her! He _did_ kill people, Erik!" Christine stands up, feeling powerful over Erik since she is standing and he is sitting, though his head nearly reaches her own even with the difference in position.

"Christine, please. Do you want those people to die? Maybe we can save some lives if you just listen to him!" Christine turns away, exceedingly angry and put off by Erik's insistence that she must be passive. She whirls back around to say something in retaliation when she finds herself caught by her coach's arms.

In an instant, Christine is pulled down into Erik's lap, struggling and fighting. "Let me go!"

"Stop, Christine! Listen to me, damn it!" She stops trying to wriggle free of his grasp and he looks her straight in the eyes. "Christine, trust me. He won't hurt you. He's not that stupid as to attempt murder."

They go on with the lesson as they normally would have, practicing for the confusing final number, _Down Once More_. Christine is disappointed when it ends, for she knows that this is her last time alone with Erik. He walks her to the door of the mansion and she steps outside, while he stays on the threshold step. "Thank you so much, Erik. For all you've done."

He turns to go back inside without a word, but she catches him by the arm. "What is it now, Christine?" Christine steps back up to stand right by him and pushes herself closer to him, sensing his heart beating rapidly.

"You weren't going to let me leave without saying _au revoir_, were you?" She wishes she were not as timid as she is. That was the best opportunity for her just to see what it would be like to kiss him, but she was too scared, too frightened.

Erik sighs tremendously. "_Au revoir_, Christine." His lips are right near her forehead; she can feel him breathe. Slightly disappointed that he hasn't taken the chance to kiss her, she steps down and begins towards the walkway. "Christine?"

"Yes?" she replies hopefully, turning to face him again, and she finds that Erik had descended to the walkway with her. He takes her chin in his large hand, making her quiver.

"Thank you for all of the hard work." He starts to leave.

"Y-y-you're welcome!" Christine shouts, trying to stop herself from crying freely. _Why do I feel this way? I love Richard, don't I? Don't I love him?_

3


	12. Darkness

_**Chapter Twelve – Darkness**_

_Paris Opera – July 2005_

Christine sits alone in her dressing room, Madame Garnier beside her with a cool cloth. "How are you feeling, _mon chéri_?"

"Not well at all, Madame." Christine coughs violently and begins to cry.

"Christine, you stay here and rest."

"No! It's our first dress rehearsal, Madame!" She sits up, angry at her grandmother for being sick last week and passing it on to her.

"I'm sorry, Christine, but you can't go out like this." Christine stands up and stomps her tiny feet in anger. "I would let you go, but you've got a high fever."

"But Madame! The show's in two weeks! I can't miss a rehearsal!" She worries that she'll have to tell Madame why she really doesn't want to go. It's been brewing inside her, the urge to tell the dance instructor that the Phantom will probably come for them, but she just…can't.

"I'll go tell Monsieur Destler that you won't be joining them today." Before she can argue again, Madame is gone. _Shit._ Now, she feels completely helpless. _What if he does something…terrible? I'll be the one to blame!_

"Christine?" Elle's voice penetrates the door of Christine's dressing room and meets her ears. "Christine, may I come in?" She stands and opens the door to her grandmother, sinking into her arms, telling her everything, all of her worries. "Don't be afraid of him, Christine. This isn't the nineteenth century any more. There is much more of a chance he'd be caught."

"I'm so scared!"

"I know, Christine, I know. Now get some rest. I'm going to go talk to Monsieur Destler about your illness." She nods as Elle leaves.

Sleep consumes her, and she wakes up to frantic sounds from the theatre. Against what she's been told, Christine rises and runs to the noise. Carla is screaming angrily on stage. "_Get off now_, who does he think he is, this bastard! Who is he to tell me what to do?"

"What's going on?" Christine asks Missy, who shifts away from her a bit, so as not to catch cold.

"One of his notes fell from the rafters and it told Carla to get off of the stage before it's too late." Christine takes a sharp breath. "She went into a fit." Christine notices Elle standing at the side of the stage, talking in hushed tones with André as the temperamental assistant manager walks the stage, screaming.

Suddenly, there is a loud bang and many people scream. Christine grabs Missy instinctively and inquires, "What the hell was that?"

"Someone get a doctor!" André shouts, and Christine turns to face him, meeting a most gruesome sight.

"No!" Elle lies sprawled on the ground, blood spurting from a wound in her chest. Christine runs to her, pushing the manager and Monsieur Webber aside. "No!"

Richard appears at her side as Missy shouts, pointing to the rafters above the stage, "It's him! The Phantom of the Opera!" Abruptly, Richard rises and jumps on the stage, running for the stairs.

"Richard, no!" Christine shouts, running to him. "You're not safe going to find him! Come with me!" She grabs his hand and drags him away.

"But Christine, your grandmother!"

"There's no time! She'll be fine, I'm sure." But she isn't sure, not even remotely. She drags Richard away and up through the opera house and resurfaces into the theatre on the balcony near the ceiling. The lovers catch their breath, but Richard is quick to speak again.

"Christine, why have you brought me here?"

"He hates you! He told me so, Rich! He despises you! We can't be seen together by him!" Richard takes her shaking hands in his own and holds them firmly.

"My darling Christine, don't fear him. You're hallucinating. It's all going to be okay, Christine, I promise you." He backs away from her a little and fishes something out of his pocked. "Here," he says, handing her a necklace with a little gold ring on it, "it was my mother's. Keep it with you."

"Oh, Rich," she replies, sinking into him and kissing him deeply. His hands weave around her and clamp down around her back, pulling her closer. Christine continues to kiss him, but she has the strangest feeling that she is being watched. A shiver runs down her spine as she and Richard come up for air. She chances a glance at the door they came through and gasps.

Erik Destler is standing in the doorway, a look of pure anger on his face. "I was wondering when you'd notice me." He smiles slyly. "They want you downstairs, Christine." Knowing what the reason could possibly be, Christine grabs Richard by the hand and drags him with her down the many flights of stairs, Erik trailing behind them at his own pace.

"Christine!" André shouts to her, and she can see that there are paramedics surrounding him. She rushes to him, leaving Richard and Erik behind. Christine's eyes are met by Elle lying practically lifeless on the ground and tears come to her eyes. "She's still with us, Christine, though not for much longer."

She sinks to the floor beside her grandmother. "Who did this?" Christine asks, her voice shaking and raspy. "Who in the hell of it could possibly do this?"

"We don't know, Miss Landry," says Webber, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I'll find out, Christine." Richard's voice draws nearer and she sees him standing beside Webber and André. "I'll find him." With that, he is gone.

"Monsieur Colville!" André calls. "Antonia, follow him. See he doesn't do anything irrational." Madame Garnier nods and runs after him.

"Christine?"

"_Grand-mère_!" Christine sinks down to Elle's level and she sees that the older woman's breathing is labored. "_Grand-mère_, speak to me!"

Elle touches Christine's cheek. "With your hair like that, you look just like your mother, Christine. But you have your father's eyes."

"Oh, _grand-mère_, what have they done to you?" Christine leans down and kisses Elle's forehead.

"Not them, Christine. Him. The Phantom of the Opera is…" she coughs violently and there is nothing more they can do. She falls motionless on the floor and Christine feels a large presence beside her. She looks, her last moments of rational behavior wasting away, and sees Erik, tears tracing their way down his cheeks. All care gone, Christine screams.

"Why? Why? How could you do this to me?" she yells into the space above her. Tears hurtle down from her eyes, planting themselves firmly on her clothes and the surrounding floor. The hushed tones that the production team and paramedics are talking in turn into blurs as she cries helplessly.

"Christine…" Erik's hands come to her to soothe her.

"No!" she shouts, pushing Erik away. "No!" Christine collapses in a weepy mass on the floor, crying for God knows how long. She feels familiar hands around her, lifting her up, and she complies. Soon, she is lying on a soft bed in a room that seems very recognizable, and there is a large figure sitting beside her. She reaches out her hand and it is held tightly in this figure's.

Her eyes flutter open. "Erik?"

"Yes?" His voice is more welcome to her than ever as he caresses her hand with his fingers.

"Oh, Erik," Christine moans, falling into his awaiting arms. He holds her there for a long time, what seems an eternity, gently rocking her in his grasp. "Erik, why?" she asks him, though she doesn't expect an answer.

"I don't know, Christine. I just don't know." He turns his head a little and touches his lips to her forehead. "I'm here with you, Christine. I won't let him hurt you." That surprises her. It is the most tender thing she has ever heard out of the man, save for song lyrics, and it makes her feel smaller and weaker in his arms, even if she is more assured.

Christine snuggles closer to him, and he doesn't argue, continuing to hold her tightly. He murmurs softly in her ear, "_Let me be your freedom. Let daylight dry your tears! I'm here, with you beside you, to guard you and to guide you…_" She moves into his embrace even more, savoring the closeness they are sharing. "Christine, you're safe. I promise you."

Erik takes Christine's chin in his hand and tilts her face upward. "Thank you," she says softly, a meek reply to his powerful words. "You didn't have to say those things, Erik, not if you can't promise them."

"But I can, Christine. You watch. I'll take care of you, I swear it." He holds her hand tightly, making sure she's aware of his certainty. Erik lets go and puts his hand out to cup her cheek, his thumb massaging her lips. She leans into him, glad that they're alone, glad for the first time in a while that Richard isn't there. "I love you, Christine."

The words come out of her mouth before she has time to stop them. "I love you too." Christine buries her head in the crook of his neck, fitting herself to him perfectly, like they were made to fit together. Soon, he stands up. With not a word, he moves to stand right before her, her knees knocking into his lower legs.

Without warning, he pulls her to her feet to stand against him, and Christine doubts whether there is any space at all between them. Erik pulls her close and captures her quivering lips with his own. She stalls for a moment, not knowing what to do, exactly, when she feels him pull away.

Her large eyes gaze up into his face, longing for him to kiss her again. He obeys the unspoken command, kissing her gently at first, and then with more intensity. After a few moments, he thrusts his tongue into her mouth, touching hers and racking her body with delight.

Their hands still connected, he pushes her backward onto the mattress, his full weight on top of her, though gently so as not to hurt her. Christine moans into his mouth as he lifts her up again pulling her over to lay her head against the fluffy down pillows. Fleeting thoughts of Richard and Webber and André cross her mind, but she soon returns to reality, feeling Erik's hands snaking their way under her shirt from the back. Christine uses her own hands to grab some fabric of his shirt and pull him down on top of her, his arousal now obvious against her thigh. _Grand-mère, forgive me if I do you wrong._

4


	13. Music of the Night

_**Chapter Thirteen – Music of the Night**_

_The Destler Mansion – July 2005_

"_No! It wasn't me! No!"_ Christine awakes to the sound of screaming. It is the middle of the night, she's sure, but there is obvious movement beside her. She sits up, holding the blankets around her, and sees Erik thrashing around, still asleep. "_Stop! I didn't do it! I'd never do it!_"

"Erik!" Christine places her hands on his bare shoulders, holding him down and shaking him awake. "Erik, wake up!" He sits up sharply, his breathing heavy, and he doesn't seem to notice that Christine's there for a few moments. When he does notice, he throws himself into her arms, nestling his head against her neck. "It was only a dream, Erik, that's all," she says soothingly, stroking his hair.

"Oh, Christine," he whimpers, and she feels a few tears on her bare skin, slipping down onto her chest. Christine leans over Erik's shivering form and kisses the top of his head tenderly.

"It was a nightmare, Erik," Christine assures him, "only a nightmare." Gently, Christine helps him to lie back down, hoping he'll fall asleep again, this time more soundly. She brushes his dark hair back from his face as she lays the blankets down over his muscular form. Pressing a soft kiss onto his cheek, she moves to fall back asleep when his voice comes to her, soft and gentle.

"Christine, I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's not a problem, Erik, really. Do you think you'll be able to sleep now?"

"Probably not, especially after a nightmare. I never was a good sleeper." Christine sighs tremendously.

"Well then," Christine replies, pulling one of the many comforters off of the bed and wrapping it about her, "we'll have to see to it that you do." She moves swiftly over to the piano, sitting down on the bench, the blanket falling to reveal her unclothed back. Setting her fingers to the keys, she begins to play. "_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses…slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor._"

"_Grasp it, feel it, tremulous and tender,_" he joins her. Erik stands up and pulls a blanket around himself as well, walking over to join her. "_Turn your face away from the garish light of day. Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light and listen to the music of the night_." She stops playing as he sits beside her. "Where did you learn to play?"

Choking back tears, she says, "_Grand-mère_ taught me."

"Oh, Christine," he sighs, taking her into his arms, letting her cry, and she complies willingly. His hand cups her chin and tilts her head up to look at him. Slowly, Erik kisses away the tears on her cheeks, then proceeds to lavish her lips with his own. Christine bends into him, placing her hands on his shoulders and pulling him towards her hungrily.

Erik stands and picks Christine up, his arms under her shoulders and knees, when they hear a noise, undoubtedly footsteps, coming down the stairs. He grabs a pair of sweatpants from his drawer as he ushers Christine into his closet. "Be silent," he says to her, and she complies. The sound grows ever louder, and she hears the door of Erik's room crashing open. "Father?"

"Erik!" The voice doesn't sound much like the André Destler Christine knows. "Do me a favor and," he hiccups, "let me use you're room."

"No!" Erik retorts almost instantaneously. "Get upstairs! You're slobbering drunk and I'm not taking care of you. Let Carla do it."

"Erik, please…"

"No!" Again, Erik replies rudely. "I cannot help you when you're like this, Father. Elle Landry is dead and you go out and get drunk while her granddaughter was here crying to me for hours! How could you? You should've been helping her, not getting intoxicated for your own pleasure." Christine hears the door slam and then Erik opens the door to the closet, letting her out. Immediately she falls into his arms.

"Erik, you didn't have to speak to your father that way," she says meekly, snuggling her small body into his, loving the feeling of having his strong arms surrounding her. "Really, you didn't."

"No, Christine, I had to. He had no right to go out drinking tonight of all nights. You deserve better." Erik shakes his head solemnly, and Christine takes it in her own tiny hands.

"Erik, I don't need any better. I've got all I could ever have asked for." But that isn't true. Christine wishes she could've told Erik about Richard without fearing him, wishes she could tell Richard that she no longer loves him, wishes that she could find out why this Phantom is haunting her, killing her loved ones. She fears for the lives of everyone around her, everyone she holds dear. Erik, Richard, Missy, Madame Garnier are all targets for their love of her. Christine shudders at the thought of it, and doesn't realize she's crying until Erik's finger touches her cheek, wiping the tears away.

"Whatever's the matter?" She crumples in his tight embrace, feeling like a small child.

"How could I have been so stupid? Now you're in harm's way!" Christine knows that she doesn't have to say any more. Erik understands her completely, and he picks her up again like a groom would to carry his bride into their room on their wedding night. Gently, he lays her down on his bed and lies down beside her, propped up on his arm.

"Listen to me, Christine. You are too smart, too beautiful to fall for his tricks. He wants you to think he'll come for those you love so you don't love them at all, and then he strikes, takes you for himself. Christine, I have no worries. You're strong and you're going to get through this show, whatever it takes." He moves in closer, kissing her tenderly and pulling the blankets over them.

"Oh, Erik, I wish he was more like you," she replies softly, pressing her body against his and holding onto him. She falls asleep soon enough, not realizing that teardrops are falling into her hair.

2


	14. And Then There Were Three

_**A/N** Concerning the Chapter Title-_ The title refers to the 3 men in Christine's life at the time of the story; Erik Destler, Richard Colville and the Phantom. It's important because the chapter includes their conflicts with one another.

_**Chapter Fourteen – And Then There Were Three**_

_The Paris Opera – July 2005_

"_To my dear managers; it is a pity that you do not heed my commands. Did I not clearly state that Mademoiselle Landry would be Christine under all circumstances? Did I not say that in no case would Mademoiselle Granville replace her? It is with a heavy heart that I was forced to take one of your own. Please take it as a token of my displeasure, not of hatred._

_Your servant,_

_O. G._"

André folds up the note and throws it across the floor. "Despicable." The cast of the opera sits silently in the theatre, Christine crying on Richard's shoulder, Missy's hand on her arm, gently soothing her. These are her friends, and yet she hasn't told them about her night with Erik. Nobody knows. Nobody has to.

"Well," says Webber, "we might as well get on with the day's rehearsal, then." Christine stands and goes through with her rehearsal as she would otherwise, but she fights to get her words out, her songs, like there is some invisible barrier blocking them.

As the orchestra music fades from the final scene of the show, the cast applauds for their first complete run. Christine does not, picking up her things quietly and exiting the opera house. She still has many family members to call about Elle's funeral.

She opens the door of Missy's house with the spare key they've lent her, and she sees their littlest daughter, eight-year-old Delia, listening to her iPod at the kitchen table. She waves to Christine as she heads across the hall into the room they're lending her. Looking at the list of family members on her desk, she sits down and reaches for the phone. Then it rings.

With shaking fingers, Christine reaches for it and pulls it off of the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hello, _mon ange_. It is lovely to speak to you again." Her heart freezes over, her body racked with a sudden cold. It is him.

"Wh-wh-where are you calling from?"

"Nowhere of consequence."

Christine manages to find words in her mouth. "Y-y-you killed my grandmother!"

"She was a necessary loss, Christine. Necessary to your success, I mean." His voice is steeped with slime and power, two things Christine is not eager on.

"She was the only parent I ever knew and you took her away from me!"

"She was holding you back." Christine's voice is choked and she can barely make any sound at all.

"Stay away from me." Immediately, she slams the phone down on the receiver, breathing heavily, shaking uncontrollably. How did he find her? Christine throws her funeral list aside and pulls out a phonebook, searching hurriedly then dialing the number. A woman's voice responds.

"Hello, Destler Mansion, how may I help you?"

"Is Erik there?" Her voice is shaking, and she wonders if the maid thinks she's not a stalker.

"No, I'm sorry. Can I leave a message?"

"It's okay," Christine replies solemnly, putting the phone down again. She runs to her bed, throwing herself upon it and sobbing heavily. Christine lies there for minutes, hoping something will come to her to take her mind off of what has happened, but nothing comes. She resorts to calling more family members, but it does not make her afternoon better.

The morning of the funeral dawns and Christine and Missy help each other get dressed. "So," she says to Christine as she fishes through her dresser drawer for a black shirt, "is Richard coming?" _Right, she's the one who knows about us_. _Or what was us_.

"I hope so," Christine lies. She doesn't hope he'll be there. He'll be worrying about how he can impress her by finding and killing the Phantom.

When they reach the cemetery, Christine walks silently over to the gravesite. André is there with Carla and Webber, Missy and Madame Garnier come up behind her and hold each other, and many of her family members stand in silence, passing glances in her direction. She feels hands on her hips after a minute, hands she recognizes. "Christine," Erik whispers, burying his face in her hair. "Christine, I'm so sorry."

Christine turns to face him, looking into his dark eyes, throwing her arms around his neck, not caring who is watching. "Erik," she whimpers childishly. "Oh, Erik." Erik leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"You know you can always come to me?" She nods wearily, her body hot and sticky from the humidity, her eyes drooping from lack of sleep. Erik pulls her small body against his. "I love you and nothing is going to happen to you. We'll find the man who did this." Christine buries her face in his shoulder, crying helplessly for minutes on end.

"Christine!" She nearly falls over at the sound of Richard's voice as he pulls on her arm, taking her away form Erik. "What is this?"

"My grandmother's dead, Richard, and you expect people to merely pass a glance? He was trying to help me, Rich. That's not something to get angry over." Somewhere in her response, Erik had left, and she finds herself alone with a very angry Richard. He sighs sadly and puts his arms around her.

"I'm sorry, Christine. I didn't mean to get so worked up. Just stay away from him, please. I don't trust him." _Why don't you trust him_?

The service commences and when the last bit of dirt is put atop the grave, Christine has left a large damp mark on Richard's shirt. Erik, she sees, is standing solemnly by his father looking more like a statue than anything. Many family members and friends give her their well-wishes as they depart, and soon she is alone with Richard. "I'll drive you back to Madame's. Let me just run and get the car."

Christine feels vulnerable, standing alone in a cemetery. Knowing that it'll take Rich some time to get the car, she begins to walk through the pathways between the tombstones, seeing familiar family names. Slowly, unsurely, she rounds a bend in one of the paths and sees the two tombstones standing together. The white marble glistens in the heat.

The one on her right reads in plain print, _Jacqueline Marguerite Giry Landry_, _Beloved Mother, Wife, and Daughter_. The other reads, _Franco Oliver Landry, Loved Father, Husband, and Son._ Christine walks to the tombstones and kneels beside them. She presses her heated lips against each stone, hoping for some divine intervention from her parents.

"_Christine…_" She knows that voice, though she has no idea as to where it is from. "_Christine, sing for your parents. Let them hear how much you've learned._" She knows she shouldn't sing, not here and now, but she does anyway. A _Phantom_ song seems fitting.

"_Wishing you were somehow here again, wishing you were somehow near. Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed somehow you would be here! Wishing I could hear your voice again, knowing that I never would. Dreaming of you won't help me to do all that you…_" There is the sound of twigs snapping behind her; Richard has returned.

"Who were you singing to?" He takes her in his arms and looks at her severely.

"My parents."

"But they're dead!" Christine decides not to tell him about the voice.

"I don't know. I just hoped that maybe they'd like to hear a song once and a while. I know I'm a silly little girl."

"Silly, no. Talented, yes," says a familiar voice from behind her. Christine turns and sees the Phantom, dressed in full-length attire and a cape though it is the middle of the summer. "Lovely singing, _mon ange_. I applaud you."

Richard puts his arms around Christine and backs away from the other man with her. "Get away from her! I'm warning you!"

"Warning me?" He smirks at Richard and Christine as he pulls a smalls shotgun from inside his cape. "I think you're a little unarmed to be saying such things, Colville." Christine feels Richard's body shake and she tightens her grip on his arm.

"Don't hurt him, please!" The Phantom turns his face and his eyes settle on Christine, weak and trembling in Richard's arms. "I beg of you!" With painfully slow footsteps, the Phantom advances on the couple, eyes alight with wicked desire. "Please."

"As you wish," he replies, bowing slightly to her. "But I'm warning you!" he shouts, pointing at Richard, his finger not even an inch from his nose. "If you try anything you will surely feel the wrath of an angered Angel. Or a Hellion, whichever title suits your fancy." With that, he is gone, and Christine collapses into Richard's arms, wishing it all over. _Erik, I need you now_.

3


	15. A Question of Purity

_**Chapter Fifteen – A Question of Purity**_

_The Colville Mansion – July 2005_

Christine sits silently on Richard's bed, waiting for him to finish up in the bathroom. She reluctantly agreed to go out dancing with him tonight, but she regrets it now. In her free minutes, she inspects her dress. _Maybe_, she thinks, _I should've chosen something a little less revealing_, as she fixes the rather low neckline.

"You ready?" Richard says, appearing at the door.

"As I'll ever be," Christine replies, hopping off of the bed and going to meet him at the door. He offers her his arm and she takes it, giggling softly at his silly attempt at chivalry. They go out to the car and drive off into the streets of Paris. In a few minutes, they stop at a parking garage and get out, walking down the street to the club Richard's chosen.

"I picked a place where they serve nonalcoholic drinks, since I know you're not comfortable in a drinking environment." Christine nods appreciatively as they make their way into the club, _À la Nuit_. The music is loud, everything Christine hasn't heard since she's started at the opera. Richard immediately pulls her out onto the dance floor, grabbing hold of her waist and dancing close. Christine is timid for a moment, but the music is a fun tune and it soon grabs her.

Richard's hips grind against her own, and soon she is matching his rhythm, placing her hand on his shoulder and letting her other hang by her side or entwine itself in her brown locks. She hasn't danced like this in a while, not since her class dance at the end of eighth grade. And that was with someone her age. This is Richard, a man two years older than herself who is clearly more experienced with intimacy while dancing. "You're catching on."

"I sure hope so!" she replies over the blasting music. Richard pulls her closer, on hand moving from her hips to push against her back so she is almost molded to him, her head resting on his shoulder as they dance. The necklace he gave her bounces on her chest as she dances, the cool metal of the ring swinging around on its chain.

After a while, they decide to go and get something to drink. Christine, tired as she is, orders merely a water, and Richard, out of courtesy, she's sure, does the same. The drink in silence for a few minutes, then go back to dancing.

It nears ten at night when Richard whispers into her ear, his voice ragged from dancing, "We should go home now."

"But why?" She's lost her fears and is now dancing like there is no tomorrow. "I'm having fun!"

"We really should go, Christine," he says firmly, leading her from the club and out into the night. They do not speak as the get the car and drive off towards the Colville Mansion. As Richard parks the car, Christine hops out and goes to the front door, waiting for him there. Richard finally joins her at the threshold step and unlocks the door. "Let's go upstairs," he says, leading Christine up to his room.

Christine is frighteningly reminded of her night with Erik and she fears being alone in a bedroom with a man again. "I should go back to Missy's, you know."

"Christine, I need to speak with you." She nods. "I would like to teach you about a certain opera. I'm not sure you've heard of it before- it is much less out in the open than the ones you know."

"Go on," Christine says as she walks to sit on the bed, encouraging him. Richard sits down beside her and they turn to face each other.

"This opera is the greatest the world will ever know, the greatest you will ever know, but it takes much work from little preparation. Though, I suppose you could say that your whole life is preparation enough. This opera is difficult, especially for those younger and inexperienced at the elements that add into a performance, but the rewards are great.

"First off, there is no script. No stage directions. Merely…ideas, per say. It has been written by many centuries of performers what you must do to make this opera a success. But the performer must feel great passion for the opera for it to work, or the rewards that I spoke of are nonexistent and the performer is met with great disappointment and resentment for the opera." Richard inches closer to her.

"The music this opera provides can be slow, fast, painful, and breathtaking all in one. But there is one thing that never changes; the final notes of the opera come from a great crescendo. Cymbals crash, lights flare, and the performers take their final bow to a great and wondrous applause. Am I making sense to you?" Christine nods.

"But whoever heard of such an opera, such a spectacle?" She has a strange feeling as to what he's referring to, but she keeps her mouth shut, preferring to sound naïve rather than bring up such a sensitive subject.

"Any pair of lovers, _mon chéri_." Her suspicions are confirmed as he leans towards her, planting his lips firmly on hers. It is not at all like her experience with Erik. A kiss from Erik was soft, warm, inviting, tender, and full of longing, though subtle. Richard knows what he wants. His kiss is fierce and full of fire and passion. It is not nearly as welcoming as Erik's.

Richard pushes her back onto the bed, running his hands up her body as he crawls to lie partly on top of her, his arousal pressing into her leg, making her yelp into his mouth out of surprise. There is no doubt in Christine's mind what Richard is looking for in their evening, and for the moment she does not resist.

Slowly, almost painfully, Richard moves his hands to the buttons of her sweater, undoing them one by one. Christine remembers back to a conversation she'd had with Missy a few months back.

_"What was your first time like?"_

_"Well," Missy replied, blushing profusely, "he wasn't all that helpful. He wasn't used to working with a virgin."_

_"That much experience, eh?" Missy chuckled._

_"I guess. He nearly hurt me. He didn't realize I was so pure." They laughed together for quite some time. "He said it was different."_

_"It should be, shouldn't it? Your reactions would be different, right?" Missy nodded._

Richard throws Christine's sweater to the ground and plants kisses down her arms before reaching down to pull her shoes off and unbutton the top buttons of his shirt, revealing a few inches of tanned skin. He clambers back up to Christine's level, pressing his lips to her temple, then her jaw, then lightly to her lips and chin, then down the curve of her neck. She whimpers in apprehension as Richard slides one strap of her dress, then the other, from her shoulders, kissing the skin they'd covered.

With great gentility, he trails kisses down each of her arms in turn, drawing out the time as much as he can. Then he turns back to her neck, doing the same there until his lips touch the fabric at the bottom of the plunge of her v-neck. Carefully, he pulls the fabric down an inch or two, revealing the very tops of her breasts. He lavishes kisses there before moving the silky fabric down a little more.

Christine stops him. She pulls him up by the shoulders and looks him straight in the face. "I can't do this," she says firmly.

"Christine," Richard whines, almost angrily. "Why not?"

"I just…can't." Thinking back to Meg's words, she realizes how obvious it may be that she is not inexperienced, that she's done this before. He'd ask questions and she'd have to answer them truthfully. Christine stands up abruptly. "I'm sorry," she says, a little too nonchalantly for Richard's liking, as she touches his lips softly with her own.

As she walks home from the Colville Mansion, Christine's head is spinning. How will she face him in rehearsal any longer? Will he ask why she wasn't ready? She walks in the door to see Missy at the kitchen table. "How was your date?"

"Lovely, thanks."

"Did anything happen?" Missy looks at Christine with questioning eyes.

"Not really," Christine replies, her voice devoid of emotion. Missy, however, seems to notice her lack of feeling and Christine can feel that she's smiling.

"You don't love him, do you?"

"That's none of your business," Christine replies coolly, heading straight for her bedroom, not even saying goodnight to Madame Garnier as she passes her. For many minutes she can hear the sounds of Missy and her mother conversing downstairs, and though she cannot make out their words, she knows that it's about her. _They'll never guess it's Erik. Never._

3


	16. Phantom's Waltz

_**Chapter Sixteen – Phantom's Waltz**_

_The Paris Opera – Late July 2005_

For the second time since the opening of the opera, Christine finds herself at an extravagant ball, though this time she is dressed in a most elegant red ball gown. Why André asked all of his vocal leads to dress up so much is beyond her.

Christine and Richard, as the opera's main leads, are assigned to greet people as they arrive. To Christine's very great surprise, America's First Lady and her daughters come, as well as the British and French Prime Ministers. After many minutes of constant compliments and strained but proper conversations, Christine manages to find her way over to Missy, also wearing a ball gown but in pale blue.

"How're you doing?" she asks as Christine walks up to her.

"Fine, I guess," she replies, fingering one of the curls of her hair. It really is going much better than she expected, seeing as she must spend the whole evening with Richard. She'd guessed that things would be awkward, but they really were going quite well.

"Is Erik here?" Missy had, over the months, taken an interest in Erik, even more so than when he appeared during Christine's audition. "I mean, he should be. It's his father's opera and you're his student." _I'm more than a student._

"I'm not sure," Christine responds. As if on cue, Christine catches sight of Erik talking with Webber by the grand staircase. _Of course_. He looks extremely handsome in a fine black tuxedo with a red rose pinned to it. Erik looks up and catches Christine's eye, though he makes no sign acknowledging her. He merely looks away again. "I guess he's here," she corrects herself.

"God, he looks _amazing_!" Missy nearly swoons, but Christine puts her gloved hand on her arm. "What? It's the truth!" Christine watches as Erik ends his conversation with Webber and is greeted by the French Prime Minister. Erik, however, merely bows his head out of courtesy and moves on across the hall until he is just a few feet in front of Christine. He bows gallantly to her.

"_Bonsoir_, Mademoiselle," he says to her, playing the gentleman. "You look absolutely ravishing." Christine curtsies back, smiling at the unneeded compliment.

"A good evening to you as well, Monsieur." He reaches into his jacket and withdraws a gorgeous corsage of red roses matching the one on his jacket.

"For you,_ mon amour_," Erik says, taking her hand and tying the corsage around her wrist as Missy watches, her eyes transfixed on the pair of them. "Now, would you favor me with this dance?"

"I most certainly would," Christine replies a little too enthusiastically as Erik pulls her with him to the dance floor. He places his hand gently on her waist and they begin to dance. Christine feels many eyes on her, especially André and Carla's, but it doesn't matter. _They don't know what's gone on between us behind closed doors. This isn't important._

Erik spins her around and as she returns to dance with him, he notices her necklace. _Damn_. "What's that?"

"It was a gift," she replies, trying hard to end the conversation.

"What for? Who from?" She thinks that he probably can guess, but she lies anyway.

"It was from one of my cousins for a birthday present a while back." That is the end of the awkwardness and Christine breathes freely. _That was close_. When the waltz ends, Erik bows again to Christine.

"Another dance, maybe?" But Christine knows it won't happen as Richard appears by her side.

"I am sorry, Monsieur Destler, but she promised me at least one dance this evening, and seeing as we're both available…"

"No need to explain, Monsieur Colville," Erik replies, but Christine sees that he's attempting to be polite where he normally wouldn't be. He walks away as Christine and Richard begin to dance.

"Why were you dancing with him, Christine?"

"I was being polite, Richard. I'm going to be the charming hostess that André asked me to be." They dance for quite a while before many of the other men and women in the cast get restless and Christine and Richard are asked to dance apart from one another.

The evening grows longer, and Christine catches herself looking around the room for Erik, then resorting to admiring her corsage. It doesn't look like it was a "nothing" purchase. In fact, it looks rather expensive.

About an hour before the ball is due to end, Christine and Richard find some time to be alone. "How was your evening?"

"Lovely," she responds quietly. "And yourself?"

"Quite good, I believe, though nothing without you," he says, his green eyes penetrating her and making her feel a little exposed. _I certainly should've chosen something that isn't strapless._ "You're wearing it!" He nearly shouts, reaching for the necklace. Hurriedly, Christine presses her hand to his mouth.

"Be quiet! People can't know about us until after the opera's over."

"But Christine," he says, his voice sounding almost whiny, "if we love each other, why should we hide? It's not criminal to be in love, you know." _It is when you love someone else._

"I know, but things could get awkward on stage between you and Pierre."

"We're supposed to hate each other, Christine. He's Raoul, I'm the Phantom- it works." She nods in agreement, but fends off further attempts from Richard to kiss her. Finally, the last dance of the evening arrives. Christine is extremely disappointed at Erik's early flight from the party, especially because she has to dance for a sixth time with Richard.

The music slows, the dance coming to a close. Richard whispers into Christine's ear, "May I?" She nods her approval and he leans in to kiss her when Missy's high-pitched shriek is heard throughout the hall. Richard pulls away as all heads turn to the source of such an earsplitting reaction.

High atop the grand staircase stands the Phantom. Dressed in tight black pants and a silky red shirt, covered by a long black coat, accompanied by a black mask and a tall red rose in his hand, the Phantom makes his way down the staircase and stops a few feet before where André, Carla, and Webber stand. "Good evening," he says, his voice full of displeasure. "Quite a lovely party, I must say. A grand showing, Monsieur Destler. Very nice." He descends even closer to the party and takes Carla's hand. "You look very nice, Mademoiselle Granville. Pity you don't have the talent to match." She's speechless.

Christine tightens her grip on Richard's arm. "Well? This is a party, is it not? Why not have some dancing?"

"Monsieur, the party is nearly over…" André protests, but the Phantom has already cued the band to play again.

"Go on! Dance!" Out of fear, the guests begin to waltz again and Christine wishes only to be gone from the opera house. "Mademoiselle Landry," the Phantom says slyly. "It is quite wonderful to see you again, don't you think?" Christine nods, trying hard to appease him. As he hands her the rose he says, "Be gone, Monsieur Colville. I wish to dance with my protégé." Christine does not protest and is led onto the dance floor by the Phantom. As he places his hand on her waist he whispers to her, "Do not be frightened, my little angel. I do not wish to scare you."

"Had you said that before you killed my grandmother I would've believed you. I would've given you a chance."

"I only did what was right for you, little Christine," he says as he spins her around. "No more questions." Only then does he notice her necklace. She tried to hide it after Erik had asked about it, but the neckline of her dress doesn't do much for it. "What is this, my darling little angel?" He reaches out a black-gloved hand to her neck and pulls the ring up to his eye level. "A ring?"

"It was a gift…"

"From Monsieur Colville?" Christine has not the time to make a move before he says, "It's okay, you can admit it." She says nothing as he stops dancing and yanks it from her neck. "Admit it!" he shouts angrily, and the band stops playing. He takes her arms roughly. "Admit that you're in love with him. Go on! You've nothing to hide any longer!" He shakes his fist in the air, the ring on its chain hanging loosely from it. The Phantom turns to Webber and André as he takes a large black folder from his coat. He throws it at their feet. "I've rewritten some of the score. I do hope you use it to your advantage. Good luck in your performance and heed my warnings." He turns back to Richard. "And if I see you on the stage, Colville, there will be hell to pay!" With that, he is gone.

Richard moves as if to run after him, but Christine stops him. "He's not worth it." The look over at Webber and André, both of whom are looking over the music in the folder.

"Brilliant," Webber says. "He's brilliant. Look at this! Who would've thought…but I'm sure it's much better than what we've got." Christine tightens her grip on Richard's arm, partly out of fear and partly out of feeling the need to comfort him. She feels guilty; two people have now been targeted that she loves. Wondering who is next, she looks out towards the doors, hoping Erik is safe at home, away from harm.

4


	17. Finding a Replacement

_**Chapter Seventeen – Finding a Replacement**_

_The Paris Opera – Late July 2005_

"We'll just have to put André in his place is all," Webber says, sighing. Christine looks across the table at Carla and André as Richard squeezes her hand. "We can't risk another incident like what happened with Elle." Christine shudders and Webber looks over at her.

"Christine, are you afraid to perform?" She shakes her head. "Because I completely understand if you are. We can put Carla…"

"We can't put Carla on!" Richard shouts across the table at Webber. "Don't you see? We haven't been listening to him and he's winning! If we listen to him, maybe he'll let us off easy."

"But Richard," Christine protests, "we don't know what he's capable of. He could be planning to do us in anyway. We need to be prepared for whatever comes." They all nod in approval. As they stand to leave the meeting, Richard takes Christine's arm.

"Armed guards are going to be backstage. You'll be safe, Christine, I promise you." He takes her in his arms tenderly and kisses her forehead. "Now, let's get you to rehearsal." The two walk hand in hand down the hallway to the costume rooms where Richard kisses Christine's lips gently and they part.

Missy and Christine don't speak as they get into costume, but as one of the costumers applies Christine's makeup, Missy breaks her silence. "Christine, do you love him or not?"

"Love who?"

"Erik!" Christine is absolutely speechless. "I mean, really Christine. He clearly loves you. You should have seen the two of you at the ball; you were perfect together!" The lady finishes Christine's makeup and she leaves abruptly, leaving Missy alone and confused.

The orchestra is busy practicing their new score as Christine walks over to Webber, who has beckoned to her. "Christine, are you entirely sure that you're comfortable working with André? I mean, he's at least three times your age."

"It's fine, really. I'll be okay." Webber kisses her hand and runs off to talk with Carla who is busy complaining about the set, among other things. Christine sighs, wishing that Richard could still be the Phantom. They've both worked so long and so hard that it's a huge letdown that they can't perform together.

Everyone is silent for most of rehearsal and as it ends, Christine is all too eager to go and get changed. She hurries to the dressing room and Madame Garnier helps her get out of the wedding gown and into her regular clothes. The other girls are just filing in as Christine leaves. She exits the hallway to the public dressing room and goes to her own private one.

Christine nearly shouts from surprise. Erik is standing in her room, humming absentmindedly. "Erik!" she cries, announcing her arrival.

"Christine," he whispers, taking her in his arms. "How was rehearsal?"

"As good as it's going to get, I'm afraid. Your father's the Phantom now."

"My father? Is he mad? Do they really think he'll fit into Pretty Boy's Red Death costume?"

"It'll serve its purpose, though it doesn't work very well on him. I guess it defeats the purpose of the costume." Being cradled in Erik's arms feels good and welcome to Christine, and she is reluctant to break the embrace. "Are you going to come to opening night?"

"I'll try, _mon amour_, I promise. Though I don't know how I'll sit through the entire evening without once actually voicing my opinions on my father's poor vocal talent." Christine snorts in laughter. "Oh, I almost forgot! When's your birthday? I want to take you out to dinner." Christine is caught extremely off-guard by this proposal.

"Well, it's September fourteenth, but you'll be at medical school by then." Erik sighs.

"Alas, I will be. We can go out just before I leave. It'll be a Christine's birthday and Erik's medical school dinner. What do you say?" Christine smiles upon the prospect of a dinner alone with Erik, away from the prying eyes of the opera's company and production team.

"I'd love to." Erik bends down and kisses her deeply, though not too emphatically to suggest that he wants more. Christine bends into the kiss, pressing her slight form against his much larger one for moments, then pulls away.

Running his thumb along her cheek, Erik says, "You will shine on that stage, Christine. You'll have the audience in tears. I knew from the moment I saw you on that stage the first day we met. You belong there." He kisses her again.

"Thank you," she murmurs softly into his neck. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"It was my pleasure, _mon chéri_. You are quite the good student," he jests, lifting her a little off of the ground and swinging her around. "Now, off you go. Wouldn't want to be tired tomorrow, now would we?" Erik presses a soft kiss on her lips and escorts her out the door.

"Wait, how did you get into my room?"

"I have my ways," he smiles slyly. "And my father's the manager. He has keys to everyone's rooms." She nods in agreement as they leave the opera house. Erik flags down a cab for Christine and opens the door for her. "What, no goodbye?"

"Not out here!" Christine retorts, giggling. Erik doesn't heed her wishes and kisses her anyway. "_Au revoir_!" Erik waves to her as the cab leaves, watching as it disappears into the Paris dusk.

2


	18. Another Mask behind You

_**Chapter Eighteen – Another Mask behind You**_

_The Paris Opera – Late July 2005_

Christine hurries down one of the hallways to her private dressing room. It is four in the afternoon and though the opera starts at eight, André and Webber want their cast there early for pep-talks. She opens the door and finds an array of bouquets littering all of the flat surfaces in her room. Curious, Christine goes over to the table and reads the cards.

One is from the Prime Minister, another from the drama department at a local school. The list goes on. Christine pushes away some of the flowers on her desk so she can put her bag down when one catches her eye. It is a long-stemmed red rose whose thorny stem is adorned by a small black-silk bow, as well as a card. Christine picks it up and reads, "_Your Angel of Music wishes you the best of luck._" She sighs, silently wishing the production to be over so she can leave the opera for good.

"Christine!" Missy barges into the room, her face shining with glee. "Can you believe it? We're performing tonight!"

"I know," Christine says, a little more relaxed than Missy, "but don't you go wearing out your voice or mine with gossip. We need our vocals. Imagine how it'd sound if we both sounded as if we had laryngitis during our duet."

"True," Missy agrees. "Oh, André wants to meet with you and Pierre in fifteen minutes in his office."

"Thanks," Christine replies, taking the rose in her hands as she lies down on one of the recliners.

"Who's that from?" Missy asks quizzically, her eyes alight.

"Take a wild guess," Christine responds jokingly.

"Richard?" Christine shakes her head, wondering why Richard would leave such a dark and sensual flower when he himself is bright and cheery. "Erik?" Christine shakes her head for a second time, though she realizes that guessing Erik is much more logical. "Oh," Missy says simply, realizing that the only other person who'd have left it isn't one to be mentioned in public conversation in the opera house.

"Rather sweet of him, isn't it? Considering he's a known murderer and a madman." Christine inhales the sweet scent of the flower, its petals tickling the tip of her nose. After moments of awkward silence between the friends, Christine says, "I guess I'll go talk with André and Pierre now." She stands and gives Missy a quick embrace before heading off to André's office, rose in hand.

"Ah, here she is, our lovely Christine!" André takes Christine's hand and kisses it. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, thank you Monsieur."

"_Bonjour_, Christine," Pierre says to her, and the two share a friendly embrace before André clears his throat, calling them to attention.

"As you both know, tonight we show the world our talent. We show the city that this little Phantom scare isn't rattling us. We show everyone what we're made of. I am resting it on both of your shoulders to maintain a cool head throughout our production tonight, whatever happens. You are our leads and are therefore role models." He pauses, looking at Christine and Pierre with scrutiny. "Are you up for it?"

Christine nods, though she isn't sure that she is. She wonders how she can possibly go through the show without worrying once about an appearance by the Phantom. "Good. Now that's settled, go off and relax. I want you both in costume by quarter of seven on the button. You may go." Christine turns to leave when André captures her arm. "Christine, may I have a word?"

"Of course!" Christine goes back with André and he shuts the door behind her. "What's the matter?"

"It's not what's the matter, really. It's more what _isn't_, if you know what I mean." She shakes her head and André chuckles. "Allow me to explain. You're friendly with my son?"

_More than friendly._ "Well, of course, he's my coach. And he's very kind once you get on his good side."

"That is true. But have you noticed that he's been seemingly more upbeat lately? It's not like him." Christine nods in approval, but she secretly hopes he won't ask her why she thinks there's this sudden change in Erik's personality. "It's very odd. He hasn't been happy one day since his mother passed away six years ago. I near-to never see him smile. But these last few weeks he's been almost _happy _all of the time. It really strikes me as unusual because it started right around the time your grandmother was killed." Christine gulps, knowing the very reason why Erik's changed. She knows that André probably wasn't that much of a loving father to him, and now that he has her, well, she's sure it's changed him.

"I've noticed it too, but I don't know why. Maybe he's just excited. You know, for medical school?"

"I suppose," André replies, sounding as though he doesn't really believe Christine's words. "Well, you better go relax and then get ready. I wouldn't want you overwrought with my son's problems when you perform."

"Thank you, Monsieur," Christine says as she leaves the room.

"And Christine?"

"Yes, Monsieur?"

"That's a lovely rose." He motions to the rose she's holding, the one from the Phantom. "The person who gave it to you chose a rare beauty." Christine smiles at her manager and co-star and departs, heading back to her dressing room.

Eight draws ever closer and Christine's nerves start to go on-end. Around a quarter-to, Christine makes her way to the wing on stage-left with Missy just as one of the seating hostesses enters from a side door. Christine runs to her and asks her tentatively, "Is Monsieur Erik present?"

"No, Mademoiselle Landry. I'm afraid I haven't seen him. But Lord knows, the man has a way with sneaking around unnoticed."

Slightly put out, Christine asks again, nagging almost, "What of Monsieur Colville?"

"Front and center, _mon chéri_, as he promised you." Christine lets a small grin cross her made up face. She returns to Missy's side, waiting for the moment to come. Suddenly, at five past eight, the orchestra surprises the theater in its first notes, the renowned Phantom arpeggio. Almost immediately the stage begins to light up, the curtain rising, and it is alight with movement; the opera has begun.

Time passes quickly when you're on the stage, Christine soon realizes. No sooner had the music begun when she is singing _Think of Me_, and it seems as though it is only a few minutes before intermission begins. Christine hurries to her dressing room to replace her costume for _Il Muto_ with her ball gown for _Masquerade_ when she runs into Richard. "Christine, you were wonderful!" he shouts gaily, lifting her up and swinging her around.

"Richard Daniel Colville!" Madame Garnier's voice comes sharply. "What have I told you about being gentle with costumes?"

"Sorry, Madame," he says sheepishly, kissing Christine's hand. "Good luck, _mon amour_. You're doing wonderfully." Christine catches his arm as he prepares to leave.

"Richard?"

"Yes, Christine, what is it?"

"He…hasn't shown up, has he? They left box five open, didn't they? Is he there?" Her voice shakes violently.

"I haven't seen him and neither have any of the guards. You'll be fine, Christine. Don't worry about him." She nods as he wanders off to the theatre.

"Christine! You've wasted enough time! Get into the dressing room!" Act Two passes slowly, though Christine nearly faints during _Masquerade_, due to its alignment with the occurrence at the ball mere days prior to the show. Warm relief begins to feel its way around Christine as _Don Juan_ commences.

Christine's heart races as she prepares for _The Point of No Return_. Her skirts make soft noises as she moves out onto the stage, preparing for André's entrance as Don Juan. But André does not appear. Out of the shadows to the side of the stage comes a man who looks very similar to the manager, but it is clearly not André Destler. It's the Phantom.

Nobody seems to have noticed, but Christine's body nearly quakes with fear and anticipation. Time seems to stop for Christine as the Phantom moves onstage and says in a quiet but nevertheless beautiful voice, "_Passarino, away for the trap is set and waits for its prey!_" Christine watches the Phantom as he moves even farther towards center stage ang begins to sing to her. She wonders why nobody's noticed the difference in men performing, but concentrates hard on not looking as though something's the matter. "_You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish which 'til now has been silent…silent…I have brought you that our passions may fuse and merge! In your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses completely succumbed to me._"

Christine tries hard to remain calm as the Phantom extends a gloved hand to her. "_Now you are here with me, no second thoughts, you've decided…decided…_" Christine slowly reaches out and takes the Phantom's large hand with her own, and she thinks that she sees a smile cross his face, his eyes light up behind his black mask. "_Past the point of no return, no backward glances. Our games of make-believe are at an end._" Gently at first, the Phantom moves his fingertips to touch her sides, and the skin beneath her corset sears at his touch.

"_Past all thought of if or when, no use resisting! Abandon thought and let the dream descend…_" Now with greater passion, the Phantom's hands caress her middle, one finger teasingly fluttering across the bare skin of her neck. Then, with new feeling, he pulls her against him, harshly but passionately at once. "_What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us? Past the point of no return, the final threshold; what warm unspoken secrets will we learn beyond the point of no return?_"

His hands slowly unwind themselves from Christine's body as she begins to sing. "_You have brought me to that moment when words run dry, to that moment when speech disappears into silence…silence…_" Christine turns, moving to the spiraling ladder on her side of the stage, and the Phantom follows. "_I have come here hardly knowing the reason why. In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent. Now I am here with you, no second thoughts, I've decided…decided…_" Christine takes a few steps on the ladder and the Phantom stands on the stage beside it.

"_Past the point of no return, no going back now! Our passion-play has now at last begun!_" The Phantom touches her hand before going off to his side of the stage, his own ladder, and Christine continues to sing, maintaining her composure though her head is telling her to be nervous and scared. "_Past all thought of right or wrong! One final question; how long should we two wait before we're one?_" Christine steps onto the bridge at the top of the ladder and sees the Phantom mere steps from the same point on his side.

"_When will the blood begin to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us?_" The Phantom and Christine reach the center of the bridge and he takes her hand, spinning her around before pulling her against his body, moving his hands hungrily over her corseted waist and the pale flesh of her neck.

"_Past the point of no return, the final threshold; the bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn! We've passed the point of no return._" As they sing, the Phantom moves his hands all over her, hungry for more. His thumb passes gently beneath her breast and she shivers, wondering if he knows or not that that's her most sensitive spot. He traces his hands everywhere, claiming her for his own as the music turns slow and mournful.

"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime,_" he says gently, pulling himself away from her and taking her hands. "_Lead me, save me from my solitude. Say you want me with you here, beside you._" The Phantom gently squeezes on her hands. "_Anywhere you go let me go too! Christine, that's all I ask of…_" and on cue, Christine pulls off the mask.

4


	19. Le Fantôme de l’Opera

_**Chapter Nineteen – Le Fantôme de l'Opera**_

_Paris Opera – Late July 2005_

Erik Destler stands rigidly before her, his eyes wide at his own stupidity for not using the proper prosthetics. "Erik!"

"Christine, I can…" but he is cut off by shouts of "Seize him!" from on and off stage. Out of the mayhem below, Christine can hear the screams of Missy, Madame, Webber, Carla and the rest of the cast and crew.

"Where is André?" Webber's voice.

"Erik! I knew it had to be!" Carla. In her efforts to make out the shouting, Christine hasn't noticed that Erik has turned around, wrapping his arm around her waist and has begun to drag her across the bridge, down the ladder, and off the stage. Christine tries to protest, but Erik's gloved hand is over her mouth in an instant. As if in a dream, Christine hears the rose in her hair drop to the floor as they run.

Erik leads her through her dressing room and into the passageway beyond, not bothering to shut the mirror behind them. Christine trips over her own feet as Erik, his hands still on her waist and mouth, practically drags her down the dark stairway, the torches blazing to light around them.

When they reach the gondola, Erik nearly throws her onto the seat, shoving off fiercely from the dock. Christine looks up at him from where she sits and sees his eyes alight with fury, his hair wild as his arms work to move the gondola. Deciding it's better to keep quiet, Christine bows her head silently and tries to hold back the tears she's dying to shed.

The portcullis rises as they draw near in the gondola, rising eerily out of the dark water like the gates to hell. They are barely past it when Erik drops the pole and jumps out of the gondola into the water, splashing water everywhere. He extends his arms to Christine, and she reluctantly takes them, allowing him to lift her from the gondola. Erik carries her bridal style above the water and Christine buries her head in his shoulder, grabbing at the fabric of his jacket like there is nothing else to cling on to. Her corset stings like hot knives on her middle from Erik's harsh grasp, and she gasps for breath.

Once on the shore, Erik deposits her on the organ bench and disappears into the chambers beyond, out of Christine's sight. Knowing that he isn't present to see her cry, she lets loose, streams of tears falling from her eyes. She wipes them away, trying to maintain composure, burying her face in her hands. How? How could he do this to her? Erik her friend. Erik her lover. Erik her confidant.

He reappears at the door to the rest of the lair, his coat discarded and a glass of brandy in his hand. Christine stares up at him, seeing that his expression has softened a little, but is still perfectly evil. Erik walks over to her, shoving the glass in her face. "Drink this. It'll calm you down."

In an instant Christine is at her feet. "There is no way that I'm taking alcohol from you, you scoundrel! You bastard!"

Erik withdraws his hand with the glass, chuckling slightly. "Names don't scare me, _mon ange_."

"Don't you dare call me that," Christine says, half snarling. "You have no right to call me that."

"Have it your way," Erik responds nonchalantly, lifting the glass to his lips and downing the brandy in one gulp.

"You're disgusting, Erik Destler. Dishonest, impure, and disgusting."

Erik lets out a laugh that makes Christine shiver. "I'm a man, darling," he says, patting her shoulder, but Christine jerks away. Erik makes an exasperated sigh and moves to return to his chambers when Christine lets out a little gasp.

"Why?" Erik turns to her, and by his expression she can tell that he hasn't really understood her. This time she nearly shouts. "Why?" Almost taken aback by her own words, Christine covers her mouth with her hands, tears rolling down her face. "How could you do this to me?"

"_To_ you? Christine, I did this _for _you! I did it because I love you, Christine!"

"This is how you prove you love me, Erik?" She shouts back in retaliation.

"Listen to me, Christine!" Erik comes over to her side, kneeling before her and taking her hands, but she pulls away, producing a long sigh from Erik. "You don't know what it's like to watch someone you love act like you don't matter, like someone else is more important! I loved you from the moment I met you, Christine, and you loved someone else! I couldn't take it, Christine, I just couldn't!

"And then you said you loved me. You said it to me and you meant it! But then you went back to him! You went back to a rich snob who can't offer you anything but money! And it's reduced me to this!" Erik stands abruptly, acknowledging himself. "This…this monster."

Breathing heavily, Erik returns to her side, crouching down and putting his hands on her knee. "I'll tell you anything you want to know about this, Christine. Anything at all."

"Tell me it wasn't you." Erik looks confused, his eyes searching her for hidden meanings. "Tell me it wasn't you who killed my grandmother." Christine looks into his eyes, those wicked eyes that looked at her from behind a mask, those beautiful eyes that looked at her when he comforted her.

"I can't do that, Christine."

"Yes you can!" She cries helplessly. "Tell me it was anyone else, Erik, please."

"You wouldn't believe me. It'd do me no good." His voice is raspy and labored, his chest heaving. "Christine, I did it for you, I told you that."

"How can you say that, Erik? How can you say that when you acted so hurt by her death? You caused it, you son of a bitch!"

"Christine, I…" But her hand has already connected with the side of his face. "What're you…"

"You deserved that, Erik Destler! You goddamn deserved that!" Erik shrinks back a little, embarrassed and weak looking. "I gave you my heart and this is how you repay me? I loved you!"

Erik stands up, his face twisted into a livid expression. "Christine, what did I just hear? Past tense? I was talking present."

"I don't need a lesson in…"

"Naïve little Christine, you said that you loved me. Why not love? Am I not worth it?" Erik's voice is very gentle, though his tone is harsh, the sound of it biting at her ears. _To think I was enamored with that voice._

"Well, right now you're…" but Christine is violently cut off at the sight of Erik's hand flying to the waistband of his pants, drawing out a pistol and pointing it into his own temple. "Erik! What the hell are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, you whore?"

"Erik! I'm sorry! Now put the gun down!" Christine reaches out for him, but he backs up.

"You're not sorry, you conniving little slut!" Erik snarls at her, his breath heavy and uneven. "You've never been sorry! I'll give you something to be sorry about, Christine Landry!" Christine cries out as he puts more pressure on the gun, pressing it against his head.

"Stop it! Please! Erik, don't do this!"

"Why not? Why, pray tell, should I not pull the trigger? You're making it awfully easy, presently."

"Just stop it! I'll do anything, just don't commit suicide!" Erik's eyes are alight with an intense fire, raging without a limit.

"Then say it!"

"Say what? What could I possibly say?"

"Say that you love me! And mean it!" Christine stops cold. He'll never believe her. She takes a step back and stumbles on a rock, coming close to falling over backwards, into the water of the underground lake.

"Erik, stop it…"

"Christine, must I remind you that this is no time for stalling? Give me an answer!"

"I can't!" She shouts, her voice growing hoarse. "I can't do that! And Erik, I know that you can't pull that trigger."

"Yes I can! I've got nothing to live for! My father could care less, you clearly don't love me…."

"Don't you talk to me about loss, Erik Destler! The only mother I ever knew was taken at the hand of someone I trusted, and that same night he…he…"

"Go ahead, Christine. Say it," Erik says, a sneer spreading across his face at mention of their intimacy. "What've you got to hide from dear Richard?" Christine nearly shrieks, whirling around where she stands only to see Richard walk up on the bank, his pants soaked from the knees down, his face showing his anger. "Monsieur Colville, it's lovely of you to join us."

"Pull the trigger, Destler," he says through gritted teeth. "I dare you."

"That's quite a tempting proposal, Colville, though I must decline at least for the moment. If I pulled the trigger now, I wouldn't get to hear Mademoiselle Landry's wonderful little confession." Christine looks to Erik, terror and hate in her eyes.

"Christine, what's he talking about?"

"Nothing," Christine replies, bowing her head and putting her knuckles to her mouth, playing with her lips. She shivers when she feels Richard's hands on her arms from behind. "Really," she says, looking up into his face.

"Christine, really. Just tell Pretty Boy here that you made love to me. It's nothing to be ashamed of." Richard lets go of her arms before Erik even finishes his sentence.

"You liar!" Richard shouts at Erik. "You damn liar!"

"Ask her yourself!" Erik spits back. "Go on, you slimy little coward."

"Christine…is that true?" She looks away, angry at Erik for telling him, angry at herself for doing it. "Christine, answer me!" Richard runs to her, turning her around, putting his hands on her arms and shaking her. "Tell me the truth!" Christine nods sadly, and Richard lets go as if he's been burned. The three stand in silence for what feels to Christine like hours.

"Well," Erik breaks this silence, his voice a little too cheery, "now that's settled, let's get back to where we were. See," he says to Richard, "your darling little Christine and I were just having an argument, but she can inform you of that herself." Erik looks Christine in the eye, and every particle of her being loathes him for making her go through with all of this.

Christine feels Richard's eyes on her, just like they'd fallen on her during her audition. Her voice choked, she begins, "He wants me to tell him that I love him and mean it or he pulls the trigger. But he'll never believe me!"

"Maybe I will, little Christine," Erik says coolly, his voice calmer now. "But you're trying my patience and are on my last nerve. Say something!"

"I've told you enough, I can't!"

"You want to play games, Christine?" She stares up at him, wondering what he could possibly mean. "You sure sound like you do!" he shouts angrily, drawing another gun and pointing it directly at Richard. "Say it! And don't you try and move, Colville," Erik barks, taking notice of Richard's attempt of escape from the gun's line of fire, "or a bullet's going to be in your skull so fast it'll make light speed seem slow."

"Erik, please! Let us go! Let yourself go!"

"Don't you want to hear your options, _mon chéri_?" Christine doesn't respond, but Erik continues. "Well, here they are. Option A; you say you love me and I can tell that you mean it, I drop both guns and let you go. However, Monsieur Colville over here won't be able to find it in his heart to love you again, seeing as you betrayed him for a murderer. Option B; you say you love me and I can tell that you're lying and I pull the trigger on my own gun. You'll live with the guilt of my death and Richard will still hate you. Or Option C; you continue to stall like you're doing now and I pull both triggers. You'll be forced to have more guilt in that moment than many people have in their lifetimes. And you'll have to live with it until the day you die." Erik pauses for the effect. "Make your choice."

Christine swallows hard. How can she possibly do this? But she begins anyway. "Neither one of you knows what it's like to stand here right now. Neither one of you understands having the fate of your loved ones resting on your shoulders and your honesty. I never meant to hurt either of you with my actions. But what's done is done."

Slowly, Christine continues, her voice shaking. "Oh, Richard, I'm so sorry," she says genuinely, walking closer to Richard, touching her hand to his arm, and he doesn't move away or shudder. "I never meant to do you any harm. I didn't mean to bring this about. I'd never do that. But I couldn't stop myself. I was in love with two different people, not to mention lives."

"You're stalling." Erik's voice comes like a knife through Christine's sentiments, rattling her and scaring her. "It's not working."

"Let me finish!" She shouts back, surprised at her own daring. "Erik, you have no idea how I felt the first time I met you." Taking a deep breath, Christine turns back to Erik, seeing how his body quakes with anger, fright, and determination. "I thought you a conceited, lonesome, obsessive oddity. I was wrong, horribly terribly wrong. I was so scared to take up lessons with you. But mostly I was afraid that things would get personal. But Erik, whenever things happened that I couldn't explain you were the voice of reason. You didn't let your life interfere with helping me. You were my strength when I was weak," she says, her voice barely a whisper, though she knows that Erik can hear the words, "and I love you for that."

Christine waits out the moments, long and heavy. She waits to hear Erik's voice, to hear someone come to their rescue, to hear a gunshot, anything to stop the deafening silence. "Do you mean it?" Erik's voice, once beautiful but now reduced to a hoarse murmur, penetrates Christine's eardrums. "Do you mean that, Christine?"

Looking up at him, Christine nods gently. In an instant, Erik has pocketed one of the guns and used his free hand to grab her waist, pulling her towards him and kissing her fervently. Christine responds almost instantly, placing her right hand around the back of Erik's neck, drawing him ever closer.

The kiss intensifies as Christine presses her lips even harder against Erik's. As if in a trance, she senses Erik drop the other gun to the floor, moving his hand to cradle her cheek. And then a gun goes off.


	20. Descent from Heaven

_**Chapter Twenty – Descent from Heaven**_

_Underground Lair – Late July 2005_

Christine pulls her mouth from Erik's and whirls around, looking for another presence in the chamber, the owner of the guilty weapon, though to no avail. She nearly falls over in surprise and horror as she hears Erik moan beside her. Christine turns around to face him and finds herself nearly face to face with a gaping, bloody wound in Erik's chest, clearly from a bullet. In an effort to keep him standing, Christine wraps her arm under his and around his shoulders, but his greater weight drags her to the ground as he falls with a sickening thud.

Gently, Christine leans takes Erik's hand and checks his pulse. It hasn't changed yet, but she's sure it will, and dreadfully so. Laying a soft kiss on his forehead, Christine turns to the wound in his chest. The bullet's penetration has ravaged the skin and muscle underneath Erik's shirt, and it bleeds with reckless abandon, staining the once-beautiful white shirt with crimson. "Damn weapons," she murmurs, ripping a piece of fabric from her skirt and pressing it against the gash. Erik emits a cry of anguish at her ministrations, grabbing her hands with one of his own, and she eases up, only to hear sounds coming from the entrance to the lair.

Christine turns around to see André, accompanied by Monsieur Friar, appear at the portcullis. "Christine!" he shouts, running over to her, barely noticing Richard or Erik. André catches sight of the rip at the hem of Christine's skirt and shouts, "Did you do that?" Christine nods to him, a little confused as to the subject of which he speaks. "You'll be forking over good money for that!"

Standing up to her full height, though it is no match for André's, Christine asks, her expression full of loathing, "André Destler, do you not realize that your son is…dying on the floor?" Christine cringes at the word she's used, hoping that Erik didn't hear her, though she knows he probably has.

"And that should be important to me why?" Christine cannot stop her mouth from dropping open.

"He's your son, damn it!"

"And?" Christine comes very close to slapping André across the face like she did with her son, but she worries that his greater adult authority would get her into trouble for it. _But he deserves it._ "He does not have my love or my sympathy."

"He's your son and you should love him not matter what! I know his mother would…"

"Don't you bring Erik's mother into this!" André snaps back. "He is undeserving of my love, and of yours. He locked me in a goddamn closet, he shot your grandmother, and he lied to the whole of the city! How should I love someone who did all of that? Why should you?"

"First of all," Christine starts, advancing on André, "you cannot tell me who and who not to love. Secondly, Erik is your son, and fathers love their sons no matter what they do to them. He is your flesh and blood, André Destler and whether you like it or not you will always be bound to him. If he dies, you will feel guilty for the rest of your cursed days. Now get him a paramedic, damn you!"

"You are a meddlesome girl, Christine Landry. Let him die!" André leaves Christine speechless as he turns on his heel, walking back down the beach. "Come, Richard. Let's get you dried off." André, Richard, and Friar get into the gondola, none looking back, and glide out across the lake into the darkness.

"I hate you, André Destler!" Christine calls after them. "I hate you!" Burying her face in her hands, Christine cries pitifully. She cries for Erik. She cries for André. But mostly she cries for the rest of their lives, forever changed by the night's events.

"Christine…" Christine hears Erik's weak voice from behind her and runs to him, falling to the hard-packed floor beside him. Erik's hand comes up to trace her jaw line with a shaking finger. "You didn't have to do that. You didn't have to say those things to him."

"You heard all of that?"

"Of course I heard it," Erik replies, laughing a little but stopping out of pain. "And I know that hate's a very strong word."

"Erik, he was condemning you to death. He had no right to do that as your father." Christine takes his hands in her own, squeezing them tightly.

"He wasn't condemning me." Christine opens her mouth as if to retaliate but Erik stops her. "You don't have to hide it from me, Christine. I know just as well as you do that I'm dying."

"No!" Christine shouts, pulling Erik to her chest, his head on her chest, but he shouts in anguish and Christine lets him back down. "I'm sorry, Erik."

"Don't be sorry. It wasn't your fault."

"What're you talking about?" Christine cries. "If it weren't for my naivety you wouldn't be here. If anyone deserves this," she says, motioning to his wound, "it's me."

"Christine, please. I betrayed your trust and killed your grandmother without reason. A life for a life, Christine. It's my time." Christine shakes her head sadly. "Please, Christine. Let me know that you won't feel guilty after this is over."

"No, Erik, you're not dying."

"Yes, Christine, I am. Stop denying it, Christine. Do it for me." Christine leans over him and buries her face in the crook of his neck, remembering the first time she did so and how she'd felt like they were meant to be together, that they were two parts of one being. Now her other half, she realizes, is dying, and fast. "You know," Erik says, stroking her hair with his hand, "you remind me of my mother. I've thought so since the minute I met you, and I know my father did too. She was so beautiful." Christine sits up and again tries to stem the flow of blood from Erik's chest, but, with whatever strength he can muster, Erik forcefully pushes her away. "I'm sorry, Christine. I didn't mean to do that."

"Christine!" Madame Garnier's voice penetrates the heavy air of sadness.

"Madame Garnier! Get a paramedic, please!" Christine shouts, whimpering almost.

"Don't, Antonia. It's too late for any of that. By the time you get back…" Christine covers Erik's mouth at once with her hand.

"Don't say such things!"

"Would you rather I lie?" Christine shakes her head sadly. "There's something you should know about me, Christine," Erik says, ignoring Madame completely. "My mother, she was a wonderful woman. A great dancer, a glorious singer. She taught me everything I know about music. But that's not all she taught. Her name was Kayla Diana de Chagny Destler. Her great-grandparents were Raoul and Christine de Chagny. That's why I know so much about the Phantom and why I've striven to find out more. It's my past."

Tenderly this time, Christine draws Erik up to her level, holding him close but gently. "Oh, Erik. All you've been through…"

"Don't go into this again, Christine, please." She nods, but before she can do more, Erik emits a loud cough, and his breathing takes a turn for the worst, breaths coming in short intense gasps.

"Erik!" Christine lays him on the ground. "Don't leave me, please."

"I'll always be with you, Christine. I'm always going to be right here," he says, placing his shaking palm on the place where Christine's heart is. "And though the life may leave my body, you're going to be right here," he adds, taking Christine's small, cold hand and pressing it to his chest in the same place, "like a handprint on my heart." Christine feels tears brimming over her eyelids, and Erik wipes them away. "Don't cry, my beautiful Christine. Please don't, _mon ange._ I will love you no matter what, and not even death can change that."

"You don't have to convince me," Christine replies, a small smile spreading across her face, "I know." With the strength he has left, he takes Christine's head in his hands and pulls her down into a kiss, passionate, scary, and climactic all in one.

Erik pulls away, as if he's afraid he'll spread the disease of death to Christine through their kiss. Christine chances a glance at Madame Garnier whose expression isn't readable, though she knows she's crying. Jumping with surprise, Christine feels a little band of cold metal against her palm. Looking down, she sees Richard's ring glittering in the candlelight. Out of the darkness pressing in on them, Christine hears a familiar tune in a raspy but recognizable voice. "_You alone can make my song take flight._" Christine looks down at Erik, his once earth-shattering voice reduced to a cracking and breathy mess. Erik takes Christine's hand and touches his lips to it, like a perfect gentleman. "_It's over now…_" Erik's hand goes dangerously limp in her own.

"Say it…" Christine whispers in a half-sob, taking a moment to lean down and kiss Erik's lips, which have gone unnaturally cold. "Say it!" she shouts, her voice breaking over the short two syllables. "Say '_the Music of the Night,_' Erik. I know you can." But she's lying to herself, she knows. He's gone and there's nothing left to be done but remember. Laying her head for a last time in the crook of Erik's neck, feeling for one final moment that they are one, Christine whispers, "I love you, Erik Destler. I will love you until the day I die." As she prepares to stand up and run into Madame's awaiting arms, she adds, "_Mon ange…_"


	21. Angel's Will

_**Chapter Twenty-One – Angel's Will**_

_A Cemetery near Paris – Early August 2005_

Christine walks silently into the cemetery on the arms of Madame Garnier and Missy, her head down. At Elle's funeral, she'd been the proud hostess. She'd taken care to ensure her appearance was lively, taking the time to put on some makeup and choose the black clothes best-fitted to her. Now, however, she moves like a living corpse, her face pale, her clothes limp on her body. Erik's relatives' opinions of her don't matter, at least not for the moment.

Through the whole service, Christine leans sadly on Madame's shoulder, too sad and tired to shed even one tear. As the casket is lowered into the grave, Christine bites her lip, trying hard to maintain composure and not jump in the grave too.

When the group disperses, Christine sees André saying farewells with Carla on his arm, though neither looks particularly moved by the service. Rather, they are smiling. Christine, though against her better judgment, walks over to the opera manager. He does not cast her even the slightest glance, but she speaks anyway. "_Bonjour_, Monsieur Destler. I'm sorry for your loss," she says, but her voice cracks and she's sobbing before the sentence even ends, running away to Missy.

Embracing Missy tightly, Christine hears Madame's harsh voice from behind her. "André Destler, you apologize to her!"

"Antonia, really, you're going to make a scene." If it's at all possible, Christine hates André even more.

"Me making a scene? André, she thinks it's her fault that Erik's dead! And we know that it…"

"Well, it is her fault! If she hadn't acted the whore like she did…"

"André Destler, I'm ashamed of you! It's not her fault and you know it! You owe her an apology, for Erik's sake. You should've heard her down in that lair before he died! She thought she deserved to die, not him!"

"Jesus Christ, woman, keep your voice down!" Christine can almost feel Madame's anger radiating from her.

"Well, if you don't apologize to her you're going to need to find yourself a new dance instructor! Good day to you, sir!" Madame makes her way over to her daughter and Christine. "Let's go, girls." The threesome walks arm in arm down the gravel path from the cemetery to the parking lot when Missy speaks.

"Mother, are you really going to quit?"

"We'll see, Melissa. We'll see." That clearly is the end of the conversation by the tone in Madame's voice.

Just as they near the parking lot, an officially dressed man appears in front of them. "Excuse me; is one of you by any chance Mademoiselle Christine Landry?" Christine raises her hand in acknowledgement. "Ah, I've been looking for you everywhere! I'm Joseph Rawlings, the Destlers' legal representative." He extends his hand and Christine shakes it kindly. "You were on Monsieur Erik's list of people to be present at the reading of his Legal Will. We're meeting at their mansion in fifteen minutes."

Rawlings turns to leave when he is stopped by Madame Garnier. "We're coming with her." Christine is silently glad for Madame Garnier's love and hospitality, knowing that she will always treat her like a daughter. Rawlings looks a little confused, so Madame takes the initiative, extending her hand. "Madame Antonia Garnier. I was a close friend of Erik's mother. And this is my daughter Melissa, a close friend of Christine's."

After a few moments, Rawlings responds. "You may come. But be on time! I'll see you shortly." He tips his fedora to the threesome and walks off.

Fifteen minutes later, Christine finds herself again on the front steps of the Destler Mansion. Her heart beating rapidly, she reaches for the doorknob, but Madame is quicker, opening the door for Christine and Missy. The house is pure chaos of young cousins running rampant, maids hurrying to bring hors d'oeuvres to the guests, female family members crying against their husbands' shoulders.

Missy and Christine situate themselves in small folding chairs by the large table that has been set up in the parlor, on which there are stacks of legal-looking files. Madame, however, walks off to talk with Webber, and Missy's feeble attempt at eavesdropping proves worthless.

Shortly afterward, Rawlings shows up at the table and calls everyone to silence. "Good afternoon. If I haven't introduced myself officially, my name is Joseph Rawlings. I am the legal representative of the Destler Family, and currently it is most unfortunate that I must be reading the Legal Will of one so young." Christine brushes a tear off of her cheek as Rawlings rummages through his briefcase, finally drawing out a large manila envelope. Out of the envelope comes a packet of papers stapled together.

"Here we are. The Legal Will of Erik Raoul Destler as of July Nineteenth in the Year Two-Thousand and Five." Christine pays little attention to most of the reading, not very interested in Erik's small belongings like a cell phone being left to cousins, aunts, family friends, and the like. About a half-hour into the reading, Christine's attentions are drawn back to the Will.

"'As most of you know,'" Rawlings reads, "'I was a great lover of the musical arts, and have been told by many that my talents would do me a great deal of good if I chose to perform. It is rare, in a case such as this, that we find ourselves exposed to one whose talent matches our own. I found such a gem in Mademoiselle Christine Landry, the star of my father's opera. At first I found her overly inquisitive, naïve, and a little annoying, but as time went on, I found out that those feelings weren't dislike at all; they were love. And so, I leave to Christine my piano and all of my musical regalia." Christine feels many pairs of tear-stained eyes on her and suddenly becomes very interested in the tiling on the floor.

Once Rawlings has finished the reading of Erik's Will, Christine stands and heads for the door. "Wait!" Missy runs after her. "Christine, aren't you going to get Erik's music? Mother can arrange to have the piano delivered to our place, but I'll help you carry the music."

"I don't want it," Christine says, her voice full of determination.

Missy looks aghast. "Christine!"

"What? I don't want it. You take it." Missy crosses her arms defiantly, but doesn't respond as such.

"Fine. At least help me gather it up." Christine obliges, leading Missy down into the basement and to Erik's room. Missy immediately hurries over to the piano bench and opens the top. "Wow…are these all his?"

"I suppose," Christine replies, devoid of feeling. She sits down on the edge of the bed, running her hand over the downy comforter yet to be plucked from the bed by Uncle James. Lying down, Christine closes her eyes, remembering how she had once lain here with the feeling of Erik's strong arms around her, his breath in her hair, his lips on her neck. She thinks back to being rocked gently in his arms when she felt lost. And tears come to her eyes thinking about holding him in her own embrace after his nightmare. _That was because of his secret. It was because he was the Phantom._

"Oh my God. Christine! Christine, you need to see this!" Christine is drawn from her trance by Missy's yells. She stands up and walks over to her friend who shoves a small packet of paper in her face. "It's for you." True enough, there is a white sheet of paper clipped to the packet with her name on it in elegant script. Pulling it off, Christine reads the first sheet of paper, a note.

_My darling Christine,_

_As you read this, you are probably very angry with me or mourning over my demise. You have every right to be angry, for what I did to you was beyond words, beyond any hope of reconciliation. I betrayed the trust you gave me so willingly, I ruined your life for my own purpose. That is unforgivable, and therefore I deserve not to be forgiven._

_You will find in this packet a piece I wrote for us. Not for you, not for me, for us. For the memory of us as a pair. I hoped to give it to you as a gift should we ever marry, but now seems fitting. I owe it to you, if nothing else. I only ever wanted to make your life full of joy and light, but instead I brought it to darkness to quench my own thirst for revenge. But my beautiful, wonderful Christine, know that I will always love you, through joy and revenge, in darkness and in light._

_With all of my love, forever and always,_

Erik R. Destler

Christine hands the packet back to Missy, unable to look at it any longer. "Aren't you going to keep it?"

"No. Give it to someone with a use for it." Before Missy can make any complaint, Christine adds, "Yes, I'm serious."

"I guess my mom's Cousin Stephen could use it. He's a composer, you know."

"I've had enough of composers," Christine replies coolly. Missy piles all of the music into a bag and stands up to leave. "I'll be there in just a minute," Christine assures her, and is left alone in Erik's room for the last time. She walks silently across the carpet to the piano, her fingers ghosting over the pristine white and black keys, the urge to play a requiem for Erik's memory growing within her. _I mustn't. I must forget this._

Instead, she heads to the back wall, now bare, the painting having been left to a distant cousin. Christine reaches her hand up, her fingers tickling the wall where the painting of the mask once hung. "_Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you…_" Christine jumps, feeling as though she's being watched, and whirls around, but there is nobody there. Closing her eyes, she can almost envision having stood where she is now, being held in Erik's arms as she sang, and begins to feel as though she's not so alone any more.


	22. Epilogue

_**Epilogue – For Good**_

_The Garnier Mansion – August 2007_

"Christine! Get a move on! Richard's here!" Christine looks herself over in the mirror, straightening her new NYU sweater one last time before hurrying out the door and down the stairs in response to Missy's call. At the landing, Christine is met by arms around her and a quick whirl around on the part of Richard, and she can see Missy rolling her eyes.

"You look lovely, my dear," he says gentlemanly, bowing to her. Christine chuckles softly. "Your bags are in my car. Say your goodbyes and we'll be off." He nods to Madame and Missy then proceeds to walk out the door and to his car.

"Oh, Missy," Christine says mournfully, embracing her friend tightly. "I'm going to miss you!"

"And I you!" Missy responds, sniffling a little. Christine turns and hugs Madame just as amiably.

"Good luck, _mon chéri._ I do hope you'll write!"

"I promise!" Christine responds, kissing both women's cheeks and hurrying out the door to meet Richard in the car. They speed off towards the airport in silence. A few minutes into the trip, Christine begins to sniffle, then breaks into full-out sobs.

"What's wrong?" Richard asks her gently, putting a hand tenderly on her back. "Are you scared or something?"

"No," Christine sniffles, "It's just, well, can we make a stop? At the cemetery?"

"Oh," Richard says, suddenly understanding, "I understand." He makes the turn in the direction of the cemetery and steps on the gas pedal. Soon, they are in the parking lot. "I'll wait here, okay?"

"Okay," Christine responds, walking down the gravel path into the cemetery. The flowers on either side are so large they almost create an arbor above her, and soon she stops, seeing a patch of blood red on her right side; roses. Carefully, she plucks one from the bunch and continues onward. Finally, she reaches the small family plot, set aside with space for three graves, only filled by two.

Kneeling down by the nearest headstone, intricately engraved marble, she lays the rose at its feet. Inching ever closer to the headstone, Christine draws her fingers over the words. _Erik Raoul Destler, 1981-2005, Musician and Son._ Christine has the distinct urge to buy a new headstone for Erik, one that includes her own feelings for him. Not "Musician and Son." Rather, "Angel and Lover."

"Erik, I'm leaving you," Christine whispers. "I'm going to New York, Erik. I'm going to be a singer on Broadway, I hope." Looking up into the sky, Christine continues, "Are you up there? Did you make it there? Oh, Erik," she whimpers, looking down again and tracing her hand over the grass in front of the headstone. "I miss you so terribly."

With trepidation, hoping that nobody is watching, Christine places both palms on the headstone and leans forward, pressing her lips to the marble. "A little caught up, are we?" Christine jumps at Richard's voice. "It's alright," Richard says, taking a few steps towards her and offering her his hand, which she takes. Christine stands and finds Richard's arm around her, his free hand in hers, as they walk. "You still think about him, don't you?"

"All the time," Christine replies, nestling her head on his shoulder.

"I can't say that I know what he thought, but I think he'd be proud of you. If he's up there," Richard says, casting a glance upward at his referral to Heaven, "he's smiling at you." Christine stops Richard for a moment. She stands on her toes and kisses Richard gently on the lips, something she hasn't done in over 2 years. "What was that for?"

"For accepting this. I know it's not easy on you, knowing that I gave my heart to someone else. But saying what you just did wasn't necessary, and you did it anyway." They lace their fingers together and walk silently down the pathway back to the car.

At the airport, after helping Christine check her baggage, Richard takes her in his arms. "Good luck, Christine. I know you'll do well." Christine kisses him softly and hugs him back.

"I'll miss you, Richard! You will visit?"

"If I can, Christine. If I can." He embraces her one last time and begins to walk away. Tipping his fedora to her, he adds, "I'll see you on Broadway, Mademoiselle." A smile spreads across Christine's face as he gets in the car and drives off down the ramp and out of sight.

Hours later, Christine opens the door to her dormitory at New York University, a small, cramped space, but homelike all the same. Throwing her bags on the ground, she collapses on one of the beds and flicks on the television. One of the news stations, to her surprise, is doing a special on Broadway. The news anchor goes into a talk about a new play, _Wicked_, opening in the coming week, and how it's the prequel to "The Wizard of Oz," etcetera. Then, it cuts to a live performance by two female vocalists, the leads, who are to sing a song entitled "For Good."

The blonde singer starts, "_I've heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn and we are led to those who help us most to grow if we let them, and we help them in return. Now I don't know if I believe that's true, but I know I'm who I am today because I knew you._" The song continues, and Christine fades into dreams. After another section, the second singer starts.

"_It well may be that we may never meet again in this lifetime, so let me say before we part so much of me is made of what I learned from you. You'll be with me like a handprint on my heart, and now whatever way our stories end, know you have rewritten mine by being my friend._" The words hit a nerve in Christine, reminding her of a distant melody, sung in a gorgeous voice years ago, but for the moment there is only the song being sung on the television, a song of friendship, love, and sad farewells.

_The End_


	23. Questionnaire

Now that you've finished _In Darkness and in Light_, please fill out this questionnaire. When you're done, e-mail it to me using the e-mail link on my page. I'd be very grateful for your comments. -Jewelles

**Penname/Name-**

**Age- **(you can put a range, ex. preteen, teen, college, adult)

**If you were a critic, how many stars (out of 5; you can use halves) would you give "In Darkness and in Light?"**

**What's your opinion of the story as a whole (not plot or ending)?**

**Who was your favorite character overall and why?**

**Did the characters remain true-to-form with the Phantom characters?**

**Would you read more works by the author, Jewelles?**

**Would you read a companion story told from Erik's perspective?**

**Are there any words of advice you'd give to make the story better?**

**What did you think of the ending?**

**What did you think of the overall plot of the story?**

**Would you recommend this story to anyone?**

**Do you think that Erik would go to heaven or hell and why? (assuming heaven and hell exist)**


	24. IMPORTANT AUTHOR

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE**

As of August 15, 2005, my wonderful hard drive crashed, taking with it Chapters 19-21 and the Epilogue of _In Darkness and in Light_. I know that I've left you on a wicked little cliffhanger for a long time now, and once my new hard drive is safely installed, I will work around the clock to get the ending up.

On a lighter note, I was thinking about writing a piece containing events that take place in the spaces between chapters from Erik's point of view. I just haven't had a good muse for another phic yet and I've been imagining what I'd write about my darling little Erik for a while now. Tell me what you think.

As well, I'm contemplating a new idea for a phic involving a widowed Christine traveling to the Far East and being seduced into the world of prostitution, only to have Erik find her there and try to bring her back to the little innocent Christine she was. Any opinions on the matter? My other idea is for a modern-day phic about a young college professor who could get his first big break as the Phantom on Broadway who recruits a new student, the daughter of the headmaster, to help him. Again, opinions would be great if you could spare them.

I'll keep you posted on the hard drive situation. Much love, Jewelles


End file.
